


the calling

by sehnsvcht



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: (a little), (again: a little), (for the most part), Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Historical, M/M, Modern Setting, a lot of clumsy foreshadowing, a lot of night escapades, you will smile reading this fic: guaranteed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 11:14:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10638687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sehnsvcht/pseuds/sehnsvcht
Summary: “There’s this myth I heard once, back home. From an old lady in the country side. She said that humans go through four lives.”“Four lives?”“Mmh. A life of planting, a life of watering, a life of harvesting, and a life of using the harvest. Maybe we met before, during one of those lives, hyung.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't supposed to end up being this massive monster. Yet, it did. I'm sorry? Except I'm not; in all honesty. I'm very excited, in fact, as I've been working on this since January. Surprise!
> 
> Inspiration came from that one Goblin episode, where Eun Tak tells Sunny that humans go through four lifetimes; the ones mentioned in the summary. That stuck with me, and this idea was born. There's no references to the Goblin universe in this story, though.
> 
> Thousands of thanks to Sarah (zhangsyixing) for the help and support. Loooove you!!
> 
> This piece is meant to flow as one story, in some way. Settings vary greatly; the more futuristic ones were just an excuse for me to a) set a story in my home country in a way that would make sense for my characters to end up there, and b) try my hand at some sci-fi kind of writing. I'm also an awful editor (even if that's technically a job of mine) so please forgive typos and mistakes.
> 
> I really have little to no idea how else to introduce this piece, so I just really really _really_ hope you enjoy it!

**i. life of planting**

_Hanseong (modern day Seoul), Kingdom of Joseon, October 1804._

The carriage is loud in the night and disturbs the serene atmosphere that surrounds them.

As he watches from inside the vehicle, through the opening he’s left slightly ajar just so he could get a taste at the fresh air surrounding them, Yixing thinks it’s a shame he doesn’t get to walk those foreign roads.

The carriage is too loud, really. The trots of Meng and Yun ahead of him send loud echoes in the vast space that surrounds them. Despite going slowly, the two horses alone make enough noise to break the illusion of peace that the night offers.

Still, Yixing can somewhat see, or feel, how the forest that’s around him is usually quiet at this hour of the evening. Above the noise, he can hear the soft rustle of tree branches, the low murmur of the wind, the few crickets that make themselves heard only this late at night. If he were to step outside, he would feel the wind slice through his bones, and he would watch it lift the pans of his robe. He would smell the distinct odor of the dirt below, and maybe would attempt to guess whether it’ll rain soon, or not.

Yixing doesn’t get to do that, though. Instead of going to places, he’s being taken there—inside a carriage that’s stupidly loud, surrounded by middle-aged men that make most of the decisions that he should make himself. He doesn’t get to taste the air at night, to watch the moon cast its glow. He doesn’t get to do any of that, not anymore, not like he used to.

He’s grown, now; Zhang Yixing has grown up into one of the Empire’s best physicians, with what he knows are brilliant skills and what he hopes is a lot of compassion and respect for his patients. He is aware of his rank, of his importance—but sometimes, he wishes he wasn’t himself; he wishes he was someone else, whose taste of freedom is far greater than his own, whose sense of responsibility wasn’t so strong.

Life isn’t too bad, though. He gets to travel, nonetheless—even inside a carriage with closed blinds, travelling stays travelling.

He isn’t sure what he’s doing in Joseon, while the Empire is going through so much it seems at the verge of its fall. Yixing isn’t complaining, though—escaping unrest is definitely a blessing, and he has a patient to attend to, anyway.

Home is home and will stay home. He’ll go back in a matter of days, at most.

Closing the blinds of the carriage, Yixing lets his head fall back against the wood behind him. He should catch some sleep while he can—the night will soon turn into morning, and he won’t get a chance to rest as soon as they reach Hanseong.

Before slumber takes over, he tries one last time to hear the forest around him, to let its peace lull him to sleep.

***

“Your Majesty.”

Yixing bows deeply, sustains his posture for a few moments, before standing back up slowly. Facing him is a young teenage boy, no older than fifteen, draped in pristine fabrics with his hair combed tight around his head. The hat he’s wearing seems slightly too big for him, just like the massive throne he’s sitting in.

Sunjo of Joseon is too young to be king. That’s why Yixing is here.

“Are you sure you can cure the Queen?” the boy asks. His voice sounds so high, so innocent still. The question hides a little worry; after all, the woman is the child’s great grandmother, and it’s not like the young boy was ever faced with death that closely before.

At the question, Yixing bows his head again, not exactly giving a straight answer. “I will try my best to help, Your Majesty.”

When he looks back up, the boy is squirming on his seat. “Fine.” The King looks up to someone behind Yixing as he speaks again. “Take him to the Queen. He can start right away.”

Yixing bows again, deeply, before turning on his heels and leaving the room. As the doors close behind him, he hears a voice next to him say, “Are you lying to him?”

He turns to see a man, dressed too nicely to be an eunuch yet not enough to be part of the Royal family. He is looking at him expectantly, awaiting a reply, but there’s something behind his eyes that suggest there is more to his intention than his simple words. Yixing isn’t sure how to address him, nor what he means, in fact. “Pardon?”

“His Majesty. Did you just lie to him, telling him you could cure our Queen?”

Yixing raises a slight eyebrow at the stranger. “I didn’t say I could _cure_ her. That’d be foolish of me.” What’s even more foolish, maybe, is maintaining a conversation with this stranger in a strange place that he isn’t familiar with, without even pausing a moment to inquire of his identity.

“Maybe you didn’t, but that’s what His Majesty surely understood,” the man replies. His words aren’t bitter, though—behind their gravity, there’s a slight spark of mischief in his eyes, something that speaks more of challenge rather than accusation.

Yixing isn’t sure if he’s willing to be challenged. “You must know him well, then. The King.”

The man tilts his head, pouts slightly as he feigns contemplation. Some of his dark locks fall from under his hat, and while Yixing supposes any other sane person would find it rather appalling, how this seemingly noble man is walking around with messed up hair and bad manners, he finds himself only willing to listen to his words—no matter how strange they might be. “You could say that. I sort of brought him up, that kid. I taught him everything he knows, which is not a lot, right now, but I’m working on it.”

Intrigued interest is what sparks in Yixing’s mind as he stares, dumbfounded, at the man. He’s even more surprised at himself for asking questions, or answering the ones he’s being asked, rather than busying himself with finding out with _who_ exactly he’s having a conversation with.

It’s only when they reach wide panels, a few halls further from the Throne room, that Yixing realizes he’s been following the man without even realizing it.

“We’re here,” his newfound companion announces with a tight-lipped smile. His eyes have turned slightly sad as he shoots a quick look at the doors next to them. “Call me out if you need anything.”

 _Call him out?_ “I—how am I supposed to do that?”

The man chuckles at Yixing’s reply, and Yixing suppresses a shiver at the soft sound. “You simply call out my name. Loud enough so that I can hear, yes? Easy peasy.”

 _Easy peasy?_ “What—this isn’t a market! I can’t just simply call you out like that!” And as he starts to regain some of his common sense, Yixing finally asks, “And who even are you?”

At that, the man pauses, as if he’s been waiting for that question ever since he’s laid eyes on Yixing. He bows slightly, swiftly, wittily—everything this man does is witty and a little extravagant, Yixing notices—and says, “I’m Byun Baekhyun, sir. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

***

Yixing doesn’t call for Baekhyun, not even once. It’s no use, when all he’s doing is a simple diagnosis, followed by the concoction of two medicinal teas he hopes will help Her Majesty’s current state.

He doubts it’ll do anything substantial, though. She has a few months, at most. Yixing isn’t sure how to break the news to His Majesty, however—if he should at all, that is.

Then again, it’s his trust and more much that is at stake, and his rank, too; most likely, going for honesty would be the most advisable thing to do. He has quite a reputation to uphold—his, and the Empire’s.

When he’s done and his materials are packed, he bows deeply by Her Majesty’s bedside, before making an exit only to find Baekhyun standing by the doors as if he had stayed there for the past two hours of Yixing’s visit.

Actually… “Did you just stand there the entire time I was inside?”

The man—a scholar, maybe?—rolls his eyes, shooting Yixing a disbelieving look before answering. “Do I look like I have the patience to just wait for you here with absolutely nothing to do?”

“Well—”

“To be fair, you’re not exactly wrong—I took a nap, actually,” Baekhyun explains.

It’s Yixing’s turn to look disbelieving—incredulous, even. “You napped. Here. In the middle of the hall by Her Majesty’s apartments.” He can barely believe he’s uttering the words that are coming out of his mouth.

Baekhyun nods once, vigorously. “That I did.”

Yixing wasn’t really expecting anything by asking his question—in fact, as he thinks back, he isn’t sure why he said anything at _all_ —but certainly, Baekhyun’s affirmation takes him off guard.

At the same time, though, there’s something that tells him that it’s just how Baekhyun acts; that’s just who he is. Although he’s known the man for about two or three hours, and has spoken to him for a total of five minutes, at most.

There’s just _something_ about him—something that pushes Yixing to ask more, to wonder, to completely forego his own manners and etiquette for the sake of playing Baekhyun’s game because he’s just _that_ intriguing.

Yixing tilts his head slightly to the side, observing Baekhyun with sharp eyes. It wouldn’t hurt to play Baekhyun’s game, right? Not like there’s anyone watching—and, so, anyone to hold him accountable of anything. It’s just too hard not to get drawn in, especially not when there’s that spark of something in the way Baekhyun is looking back at him, behind the lack of etiquette and whatnot.

“How was it?” he asks, his voice somewhere between hesitant, curious, and playful—if that’s even possible.

Something shifts in Baekhyun’s smile, like he’s genuinely pleased by Yixing’s seemingly changing attitude. “How was what?”

“Your nap.”

“Oh.” Smile digging further into round cheeks, taking up an almost rectangular shape, Yixing notes. A memorable smile. “Very refreshing, it was.”

“Is that a habit of yours, then?”

“Napping? You could say that, but don’t tell Jun—”

“No, not the napping.” Yixing frowns, searches for his words. “The way you seem to only do as you please. And how… how you look like you constantly get away with it.” Yixing wonders how it’s like, following instinctive desires and wants, and avoiding consequences—or at least, the heavy ones. He thinks back to the last few days he just spent in a wooden carriage, between Beijing and Hanseong, travelling the corners of the land like he’s always wanted but also caged and trapped just like he’s always dreaded.

Curiosity fills Baekhyun’s eyes, genuine and dimming the mischief in them. Now, he only seems open, trusting, almost—recklessly so—and it shows in how his tone slightly softens. “I just do. Life’s too short for me to follow the rules; the boring ones, anyway. And don’t think I don’t get in trouble—oh, I _do_.” A sheepish shrug, a little less careless than before. It makes him look smaller, younger. His smile persists, bright and welcoming. “But it’s okay. I’m used to it. And more often than not, it’s worth it. Why, are you jealous or something?”

Maybe. “Not exactly,” is as much honesty as Yixing is willing to provide.

“You should try it,” Baekhyun nods pensively. “Live without inhibitions, even for a short little while. If not in this life, maybe the next?” He smiles, like he’s onto a secret, which feels like it’s something Yixing should know about but doesn’t, not exactly.

“You strike me as rather strange,” Yixing chooses to reply, going back to his question. “I was curious as to why that was.”

Baekhyun barks a laugh, and Yixing almost starts laughing as a reaction, just because. He refrains from doing so only moments before it happens. “‘Strange’ certainly counts amongst the least offensive things people have called me,” Baekhyun assures him. “I’m not sure if I could ever come up with an explanation as to _how_ I am the way I am, but I could start with _who_ I am. Just, you know. The basic stuff.”

“Who _are_ you, Byun Baekhyun-ssi?” Yixing then asks, and it’s not said without a smile.

Baekhyun only smirks, raising his eyebrows slightly as he replies. “Took you long enough to ask,” he says, smile still dancing on his lips. “You asked the wrong question, though. You basically answered your own question, really, by saying my name right after you—”

“ _Byun Baekhyun!_ ”

They both startle at the loud voice, and Yixing watches Baekhyun’s skin turn pale and his smile go sheepish as they hear approaching steps thump towards them. Licking his lips and taking a subtle inhale, Baekhyun spins on his heels, facing the young man storming in the hall.

“Hyungnim!” Baekhyun says with fake cheer, as Yixing sees the lines of his spine tense. He isn’t sure how he’s gotten to the point where he actually notices _that_. “What brings you here?”

The man—of small stature but somehow not losing his slightly threatening, slightly hilarious aura—sighs, frustrated at Baekhyun’s reply. “Would you rather tell me what _you’re_ doing here instead? You’ll get us both in trouble if you don’t come with me _right now_ —uh.”

Yixing only realizes after a beat that the man is staring right at him, with questioning eyes that are slowly widening as understanding seemingly falls upon him.

Baekhyun, oblivious, prompts, “Junmyeon-hyung?”

But the man—Junmyeon-ssi, Yixing presumes—only straightens his posture, only to bow again, this time fully disregarding Baekhyun completely in favour of his greeting. “Please pardon me, I—I didn’t see you back there. Please excuse us.”

And just like that, Junmyeon grabs Baekhyun’s hand, hastily dragging him towards the end of the hall where he came from.

Yixing stands still as the scene unfolds before him, not sure what to think. It feels it, however, how time slightly slows down when Baekhyun looks back between his stumbling steps, catching his eyes and supporting his gaze.

Yet again, it’s like Baekhyun’s eyes know something Yixing doesn’t—or maybe he does, but he can’t exactly pinpoint it, can’t exactly tell what it is. Mostly, he doesn’t understand it, doesn’t know why it’s there, no matter what _it_ is.

He sees that same confusion mirrored in Baekhyun this time, who doesn’t look so sure anymore, recognizing himself in the wonder and curiosity his eyes hold. However, when Baekhyun suddenly sends him a sparkling smile before disappearing behind a wall, following Junmyeon closely, Yixing isn’t sure what to make of the abrupt rush of heat that goes through him, his heartbeat accelerating.

From start to finish, his meeting with Baekhyun was singlehandedly the oddest, strangest encounter he’s had the chance to make. And it goes way past the unnerving familiarity with which the other man had approached him, or just how _much_ Yixing has gotten from Baekhyun upon their first—and seemingly only—meeting. From the brightness of his eyes to the cheek of his remarks, there’s just so much that Baekhyun has left behind, leaving such an impression in Yixing’s mind that he isn’t really sure what to make of it.

When he closes his eyes, he still sees the imprint of Baekhyun’s smile against his eyelids. His heart is still racing. He pays no mind to it.

***

Two days later, Yixing departs for Beijing.

On the way back, he thinks again about Baekhyun—a man he has learned is indeed a scholar, one of Joseon’s finest men of knowledge, which was slightly hard to tell behind his bold attitude and insistent remarks. Yixing wonders about him, his life, what he does and what he likes. He has learned that he does assist the King-to-be in his learnings—which, again, was hard to believe at first; isn’t Baekhyun a child at heart himself, in a way?—but Yixing figured that the challenge he saw in Baekhyun’s eyes was more than simple dare and probably was synonym of intellect.

An intelligent, audacious soul, full of something that Yixing absolutely cannot bring himself to identify but that intrigues him to the point where he’s questioning why it attracts him so much.

He’ll be left his entire life wondering, though. Yixing won’t meet Baekhyun again, not in this life.

Not this one.

 

 

***

 

**ii. life of watering**

_New York, NY, United States, March 1970_

At this time of the day, the shop is _bustling_.

It’s about ten minutes past one in the afternoon, and despite lunch time still dragging on, the small retail store Yixing’s family owns in some narrow street in Lower Manhattan is currently entertaining its fair share of customers, some taking their time cruising the alleys, some others only stopping by to pick up a box or a bottle of something. From the back of the store where he sits, Yixing can only hear the faint murmur of the steps and words resonating in the adjacent room, but it’s still at its loudest time of the day, when the words sound clearer, numerous, and the steps are more precipitated, almost creating a rumble. The place is rather small, and so the slightest increase in business feels—and sounds—monumental.

Yixing listens attentively at times, trying to detail the stories behind the people in the next room, or distractedly at others, when the noise only becomes ambient and faraway to him. Right now, with a book propped up on his lap, it’s more of the latter, although his attention sometimes slips in favour of lending an ear to the louder, more distinctive voices that stand out on occasion, even for just a moment.

The textured, chipper tone of Baekhyun’s voice, however, manages to pull him away completely from his novel, and a tiny smile already plays on his lips as soon as the voice makes itself heard.

“Ah, uh, yes, hello. Yixing?” The voice is hesitant on the foreign words, but the tone with which they’re spoken is confident, has a purpose. Yixing’s smile grows slightly more as he puts down his book and stands up from his chair.

When he makes it to the adjacent room, he finds his grandmother smiling at the boy with kindness—and well-hidden confusion, Yixing knows—smiling and nodding at his broken Mandarin. She turns slowly at Yixing’s soft knock at the door, and her eyes soften with fondness and a touch of relief.

“Yixing, darling,” she says, her voice melodious despite its slight tremolo. “Your friend is here.”

He flashes her a quick toothed grin with a short nod, and sees her eyes crinkle further. “Yes, _wàipó_ ,” he tells her. “Thank you.”

Next to her, Baekhyun is staring at him with relief flooding his traits, and it takes a lot of self-control for Yixing not to laugh at his funny look and widened eyes. “Glad to see you, Baek,” he addresses him, his accent twisting the English syllables making it out of his mouth. He’s lived in the States for three years now, and his English is not bad at all; but it’s still rather alien to him, and will probably always be. “Come join me?”

Baekhyun nods vigorously, his steps quick and assured as he follows Yixing back to the backroom.

“What brings you here?” Yixing asks, going back to his chair and picking up his novel. He flips through the pages distractedly, though, his attention very much on his new friend now, who settles to sit on the chair next to him.

Baekhyun shrugs, pushing his hands under his thighs as he speaks. “I don’t, uh… I’m free, today,” he says slowly, his speech lilting in a different way Yixing’s does. It makes the shy smile on his lips persist. “I thought I would come visit. Are you busy?”

Despite his slow words, Baekhyun’s eagerness is apparent, there for Yixing to observe and take in and appreciate. Bright eyes that are always smiling, lips twitching between a smile and a smirk, limbs seemingly buzzing with muted energy under their smooth skin. It’s what drew Yixing in, the first time he met Baekhyun a few months ago when his family moved down the street. It’s still what pushes him to meet the younger boy, again and again, as well as the vague feeling of déjà vu that haunts him at times when he stares too long.

A little like it does now, as the expectant look Baekhyun throws at him reminds him of a similar instance, sometime… sometime that has never occurred, somehow. Or so Yixing believes, anyway.

Shaking himself from the thought, he raises an eyebrow at Baekhyun’s words. “Do I look busy to you?”

Baekhyun snorts. “Fine, fine,” he murmurs, though his tone sways beautifully, playfully. “Then, let’s play that game you showed me last week. Remember?”

“Chess?” Yixing inquires, putting his book down (he hasn’t even read a word since Baekhyun came in, anyway). “ _Xiàngqí_?”

Baekhyun nods slowly with a hum. “ _Xiàngqí_ ,” he repeats, slowly, as if he’s tasting the word on his tongue. He hums some more, eyes far, far away, before he suddenly snaps back and turns to stare at Yixing again. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

It’s Yixing’s turn to snort. “Do you even remember the rules?”

Baekhyun’s smile turns sheepish, but not without slight mischief to it. “Maybe, maybe not,” he admits, “but you’ll… you’ll show me? Again? Yeah, hyung?”

For some reason, the title makes Yixing laugh, but not without warmth going through him. It’s nice, finding a friend in Baekhyun. “Sure thing, Baek,” he settles, before picking up the board from the shelf behind him.

The room they’re in is rather small, composed of a table surrounded by four wooden chairs, thick shelves lining up the walls, and a sink under the small window at the far end. All that furniture takes up most of the space, and the closeness of it all makes it that Yixing doesn’t even need to get up to reach for the board.

They set up in silence—or rather, Yixing sets up the game, and Baekhyun watches—and Yixing listens to Baekhyun’s steady breathing, his occasional distracted hum, the tap of his fingers against the wood of the table. The noise in the store room is muted, faded, in comparison; Yixing isn’t sure if he chooses to ignore it or if it really has decreased.

He takes his time going over the rules, Baekhyun following the movement of his hands and nodding along to his instructions, and they start playing after a few minutes and repeated guidelines.

As Yixing expects, Baekhyun is terrible.

The younger spends an atrocious amount of time whining, trying out moves that don’t make sense, only to complain that “ _hyung just didn’t do a good job explaining, that’s all_.” His hands find themselves in his hair more often than not, ruffling at the strands, pulling at them on some occasion. Baekhyun is loud when he whines, too, and does it all sorts of ways—loudly, softly; teasingly or straight up annoyingly. He even tries to coax Yixing into letting him win, with subtle kicks at his shins under the table or acting too cute it makes them both cringe.

Yixing enjoys it, though, and he knows Baekhyun does too, and too soon, it’s time for Yixing to help his grandmother close and for Baekhyun to go home and help his parents with dinner.

When he leaves, Baekhyun greets him one last time with, “I’ll see you around, hyung,” one of the few Korean phrases Yixing knows, thanks to Baekhyun. And Yixing replies with, “Take care, Baekhyun,” in his friend’s mother tongue, and it makes Baekhyun’s eyes crinkle with happy lines.

Yixing’s heart is warm, even as the sun goes down.

***

“The new Korean kid. What’s his name again?”

Yixing turns to Lu Han, body still heavy with sleep despite having showered, dressed up, and eaten in record time. They’re making their way to the Wu’s laundromat, both of them carrying bags of dirty clothes from their respective families. The sun beats down on their backs, but Yixing pushes through, looking down when American passersby cross their looks haughtily. They shouldn’t hang out in Chinatown, if they don’t want to see foreigners, he thinks a little bitterly.

“Baekhyun?” he answers Lu Han, who nods, eyes curious but distant. “What about him?”

“Oh, nothing,” Lu Han mutters. He pushes the bag higher up his back, wincing and side-stepping to keep it balanced above him. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him, lately.”

Unknowingly, Yixing blushes. Unknowingly, he shrugs, averts his friend’s gaze. “He’s only been here for two months,” he explains unconvincingly. “I’m just… I think he needs a friend, that’s it.”

“Sure,” Lu Han notes, but there’s still that weird, sour expression to his face. “Does he know Chinese?”

“No. He barely knows English either, but. He manages.”

A scoff answers him. “That doesn’t surprise me. How do you guys even communicate?”

Something twists and pulls at Yixing’s stomach, and it’s not all that agreeable. “I don’t know, we just… we figure it out. His English is not _that_ bad, and he teaches me a bit of Korean, too. It’s nice.”

“He’s not like us,” Lu Han then says, and it makes Yixing stop in his tracks, a little stunned.

There’s a sudden shift in the air, in their conversation. Yixing hates the taste of it, of what it can mean. Whatever it is.

“What?”

“I’m just saying,” his friend sighs, looking behind his shoulder at him, a few steps ahead. He seems to calm down at what must be Yixing’s shocked expression, his gaze softening and his mouth smoothing out his slight sneer. “I just… I wouldn’t trust him. That’s all. He’s… different.”

Yixing scoffs in turn, a humourless laugh making it out of his throat. His voice is a little louder than the soft volume it usually takes, and it echoes just a little in the street around them, disturbing the morning air. He cares very little about that, though, the implications of his friend’s words way too pressing for him to ignore.

“You do realize what you sound like, right, Lu?” _He’s not like us_. The words ring familiar, although said differently, maybe under the shape of other words, and different voices, foreign ones. “You sound like Americans when they see us.”

Lu Han frowns, not moving when Yixing starts walking again and past him. “No, Yixing, that’s not—”

“I don’t see the difference.”

“Yixing, no, _listen_ —”

“If anything, I have more reason to trust Baekhyun than to trust anyone from this city,” he adds, his angry words sounding much more affected than he feels. Or maybe, he’s speaking from… something else. About something else. It’s odd. He doesn’t like it.

He doesn’t like Lu Han’s words, either, and although the apologetic sigh he hears behind him manages to calm him down a little, it still stings. “Xing,” Lu Han says, his steps approaching him. “Forget it. Forget what I said.”

They don’t say a word for the rest of the walk.

***

“Come… come over. Yeah?”

Baekhyun has his bright, smiling, expectant eyes on Yixing, who stares back with his own wide ones, a little taken aback.

“To your house?”

“Yes, my house. Come on! My family… they want to meet you. I want you to meet them, too. It’ll be fun!”

Yixing has already met Baekhyun’s parents—countless times, even, especially when the Byuns had just moved in—so he doesn’t really get Baekhyun’s point, except he kind of does, at the same time. Maybe Baekhyun wants him to have a real conversation with his family, something that goes beyond polite salutations and small talk, although Yixing fails to understand why. Maybe Baekhyun wants to show him around, show him off, or a little bit of both, Yixing doesn’t mind.

Maybe Baekhyun just wants to hang out, and Yixing wonders, do nineteen-year-olds (or eighteen-year-olds, in Baekhyun’s case) still do that, just hang out at home and play? Yixing feels a little old and a little odd, but it can’t be too different to the time he spends with Baekhyun at the store, right?

When his questions remain either unanswered or sound too rhetorical for him to make sense of, Yixing shrugs. “Alright, yeah, I’ll come with.”

It turns out, Baekhyun had more or less prepared for this to happen, Yixing somewhat notices. It seems as though Baekhyun might’ve hinted at Yixing staying over not just for a couple of hours, but for dinner as well, when Baekhyun’s mother asks him what he likes to eat. He tells her he’s not picky and will certainly love whatever she makes, and is relieved when she smiles back at him easily, and when he sees the same smile mirrored on Baekhyun’s face.

Memorable.

“I’ll show you my room,” Baekhyun then says excitedly, his smile prompting his cheeks to be rounder than usual, and it makes Yixing smile back instantly.

Baekhyun’s room isn’t really a room, per se—it’s just a part of the living room closed off from the rest by high panels, and Yixing notices two bundles of covers and blankets on the floor, with a cardboard box half-unpacked not too far, not unlike the various other ones Yixing has seen lying around. “My brother sleeps here,” Baekhyun explains, pointing to one of the blanket bundles. His hand then moves to the other, the one closest to the window. “And that’s where I sleep. Sit down with me?”

Yixing doesn’t need to be told twice to obey, but he startles slightly when Baekhyun takes his hand in his, pulling him gently on the floor. When Yixing looks down, the younger only smiles broader, unaffected—not that Yixing is, really, no.

It’s just that maybe, just maybe, there’s something akin to sparks lighting up his skin at Baekhyun’s touch. It’s not the first time it happens, but maybe it’s the first time he truly notices them.

As soon as they sit down, Baekhyun launches into talking, about nothing and everything. His speech is a little slower, with the English words creating a barrier for his chatter. (Yixing has heard him just now, having a full conversation in Korean, and it’s as though his excitement and overall energy is tenfold with the way he speaks freely, hands moving around not unlike they are now, but with sentences flowing smoothly and with ease.)

Still, that doesn’t keep him for talking and taking, and Yixing keeps up, listens, replies, rambles a little at times, laughs, smiles. Baekhyun’s deft fingers pick at the covers under him, at his fingernails, play with the hem of his shorts, but never does Baekhyun take his eyes away from Yixing’s face, and it would make the older blush if he wasn’t so eager to keep that attention on himself.

They do that a lot, talking—at first, just that, but then Baekhyun gets antsy and picks up a deck of cards from somewhere under his pillow and they start chatting over a game Yixing has lost the meaning of already. It’s easy and simple and there’s tons of teasing and it keeps them both smiling so much their cheeks hurt—or Yixing suspects Baekhyun’s hurt as much as his own do—and in retrospect, Yixing realizes this is the most fun he’s had in a while, ever since he visited Central Park for the very first time with Lu Han about three years ago.

(It maybe hasn’t been all that long since Yixing has had a good time, really—but it’s the _feeling_ , the feeling of being submerged in something new and unfamiliar yet so comforting and easy to slip into, that has him thinking that far back, he thinks.)

When dinner time rolls around, Baekhyun picks up Yixing’s hand like he never let go in the first place, and it’s not any easier to get over the sparks that shoot through his skin at the touch. They navigate around the boxes on the floor, and Baekhyun doesn’t release him either even when they’re sitting, opting instead to play with Yixing’s fingers under the table until they have no choice but to let go in order to eat.

Yixing can feel his cheeks warmed up and flushed, he knows, but he doesn’t dare look up, doesn’t dare think, doesn’t dare disrupt the warmth of his skin and his heart.

***

April 20th, 1970 falls on a Monday. Neither Yixing nor Lu Han have school that day—they’re too old for high school, and way too poor for college—and Lu Han conveniently has Mondays off from work, which makes it perfect for Yixing to prepare just the right birthday present for his best friend.

He gets up early, puts on the first t-shirt and pair of shorts he sees lying around in his small room, before running down the stairs after quickly washing his face to burst into the store. It’s too soon for customers to be here already, so he walks leisurely through the aisles, picking up boxes and bottles as he goes. He bypasses the spices section—he’ll figure out his mother will agree to help at least for that—and leaves a five-dollar bill in the cash register just because he feels too bad picking up food from the store and not leaving anything behind, even though the five bucks he’s just borrowed will certainly get back to him one way or another.

When Yixing makes it back to the kitchen, his mother is already up, the smell of tea and whatever she’s making for lunch already wafting in the air. She greets him with a smile that he returns easily, before going straight to the point. “It’s Lu Han’s birthday today.”

She stops in her tracks to look at him with a stern look that slowly turns resolute and he stares back with as much intent as he can muster. “This year again?”

Yixing nods vigorously, putting down the ingredients he’s just picked up and talking as he does so. “You know it’s the only time he actually gets to eat hot pot,” he reasons. “His parents are too busy working and doesn’t like it when he eats here unless it’s his birthday. Which happens to be today, so.”

“And you won’t bother finding him another birthday present?” his mother asks, but she’s already working on the recipe, so Yixing knows he’s won this battle. Not that really was one to begin with, but he’s glad nonetheless.

“This means more to him—to _us_ —than anything,” he shrugs, his smile dimpling. “It’s like tradition.”

Halfway through, Yixing runs across the street to knock repeatedly at Lu Han’s door, who opens after the seventh series of three knocks (not that Yixing was counting) with a disgruntled face. However, there’s already a shy grin pulling at his lips, knowing what’s coming.

“Twenty-one, huh?” Yixing greets him, punching his shoulder softly. He feels satisfied at the grunt that suspiciously sounds like a pleased chuckle that Lu Han lets out. “Happy birthday, you old man.”

“I’m not all that old,” Lu Han whines, but he’s properly smiling now as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “It’s just another day.” Yixing wants to chuckle at that.

“Gives us an excuse to drink though. That’s something to celebrate.”

Lu Han snorts. “Didn’t stop either of us before.”

Yixing rolls his eyes at the comment, growing impatient. “Anyway. I’ll be home. Breakfast’s ready!”

For once, Lu Han doesn’t protest, only grumbles something about being down in a moment and needing to clean up. It makes Yixing smile, realizing fleetingly that he has known his best friend for quite a long time, now.

When Lu Han shows up at his mother’s kitchen, fresh and a little more awake, Yixing starts singing him “Happy Birthday” quite obnoxiously, making both his friend and his mother laugh in unison before he joins them heartily. After that, they dig in, the smell already enveloping them all around the small room, and Yixing snorts at the way Lu Han closes his eyes and hums appreciatively at the way the fumes of the meal lick at his skin.

“You look like an idiot,” he mentions, picking up his chopsticks and mixing up the vegetables in the broth one last time.

“Leave me be,” Lu Han replies, eyes still closed. He sighs contently. “I’m having a moment.”

They start eating right after that, and conversation picks up smoothly between them. Yixing asks him about his job at the factory, and lets Lu Han grimace at the question and complain about it, but the older easily replies, sometimes dropping a funny story about his colleagues. In turn, Lu Han asks him about the shop and how business’s going, and Yixing shrugs, because really, the store is doing just fine. They could use a couple more customers, sure, but it’s alright, really. Their regulars are nice enough and keep their little shop going, and Yixing retells some of the gossip he’s heard from their few favourite customers, leaving Lu Han in stitches as he tries not to snort broth through his nose.

Talking with Lu Han feels different from what it is with Baekhyun, Yixing notices distractedly between two bites of meat—while his conversations with Baekhyun are sometimes hindered by language barriers, they’re full of wonder, of a desire to learn more about the other, to share all they have with the other. With Lu Han, Yixing is way past that, and so their talk flows well, fast, in a language that is the most comfortable for the both of them, and they know already enough about each other not to ask questions but simply to understand each other with more intuitive cues. The contrast is stark, Yixing thinks, but he doesn’t mind it. If anything, it’s oddly fascinating.

Spending time like that with Lu Han is a bit of a rare occurrence, lately—Lu Han works six days a week, and it’s not like Yixing isn’t busy, either. When he has free time, usually Lu Han doesn’t, and there’s a small, slightly guilty part of him that murmurs about Baekhyun taking up most of his free time these past few weeks, anyway. But right now, none of that matters; it’s his best friend’s birthday, and they’re having breakfast together, and Yixing will probably have to pick up the afternoon shift at the shop after that, but it’s alright. They can pretend they have all the time in the world, even for just a morning.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is for Baekhyun to show up sometime after ten, the smile on his lips dropping ever so slightly at the sight of Lu Han, not quick enough for most people to notice but Yixing sees it nonetheless.

“Oh, uh,” Baekhyun stutters, embarrassed, “I can come back later, um. I won’t bother you guys.” His English has improved in the past few weeks, but there’s still a curl to his words that Yixing can’t help but find endearing.

However, Baekhyun’s words make him frown, and he’s about to say something before he stops himself. He turns to Lu Han, who’s surprisingly looking at him with half-expectant, half-inquiring eyes. Carefully, still in Mandarin, he asks, “Do you mind?”

He doesn’t need to specify, Yixing knows Lu Han knows, too. He takes a few seconds to answer, or maybe it just seems like it to Yixing. “I don’t if you don’t, either.”

Yixing nods. They haven’t really talked about Baekhyun since that one little skirmish back in March, and Yixing has made sure not to mention his friend again, just because… it feels odd. It felt odd, that one time, and he doesn’t want it to happen again.

But right now, Lu Han doesn’t seem bothered, although his eyes hide a little something that Yixing can’t help but dread a little, so he probes, “It’s your birthday, though. Are you sure?”

At that, Lu Han smiles cheekily, and Yixing might breathe a sigh of relief. “Of course. The more the merrier, right?”

Yixing smiles at him, and turns to Baekhyun, who’s watching them with an unsure tint to his eyes, as if he isn’t sure he should be witnessing their talk. However, just when he’s about to say something, he hears Lu Han speak next to him, beating him to it. “Come join us,” Lu Han says in English, with faint but honest cheer. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

If Yixing blushes, he’ll blame it on the spices of his breakfast (although he’s finished eating quite a while ago). Lu Han is not wrong—before, Yixing used to tell Lu Han a lot about Baekhyun, just because he was that fascinated and eager to have found a new friend, especially someone like Baekhyun, bright and cheerful and oddly familiar in a way he cannot explain. Not much has changed since then, although Yixing hasn’t really said anything about Baekhyun to Lu Han in a few weeks.

Baekhyun beams at Lu Han’s words, fortunately, and his step skips joyfully as he makes his way to the table they’re sharing.

At first, Lu Han seems a little taken aback by Baekhyun’s overflowing energy and innumerable questions, but Yixing watches as he slowly gets the hang of it, even falling for Baekhyun’s cheek. He recognizes himself in that, even though a part of himself knows there’s more fondness to his own gaze than Lu Han’s, a little more admiration, a little more… feeling.

“So how old are you turning today, hyung?” Baekhyun asks, and Yixing smiles at how familiar Baekhyun already feels.

Lu Han only raises his eyebrows at the title, but doesn’t seem put off. There’s an mused glint to his eyes when he speaks. “Twenty-one,” he replies easily.

“Old man,” Yixing whispers, and it makes Lu Han groan. Bingo.

Baekhyun, however, sports wide eyes and parted lips. “Whoa!” he exclaims, genuine surprise on his face. It almost looks comical, and it would look ridiculous, even, if Yixing didn’t know just how Baekhyun functions, and _feels_ —fully and genuinely, without holding back. “That’s crazy. I feel like a baby, now.”

“You are a baby,” Yixing muses. “You’re already tiny as it is.”

“ _Hyung!_ ” Baekhyun whines, loud. It makes the three of them erupt in laughter, and while he feels Lu Han’s eyes purposely poised on him, Yixing doesn’t mind.

Still, the sight before him is pleasing, heartwarming. He’s glad.

***

Yixing finds himself spending more and more time at the Byuns’. First, it’s because Baekhyun keeps on inviting him, but it soon becomes almost a reflex, to drop by just to say hi or just to keep Baekhyun company. Mostly that.

By the time May rolls around, he spends at least three evenings a week there, even having his own spot at the dinner table, and it’s… familiar. So familiar. Not being at the Byun house, per se, but just being by Baekhyun’s side.

Yixing knows what these thoughts mean, and they scare him sometimes very late at night when he can’t sleep and he’s heard some stuff in the news about people being persecuted for love—the “wrong” type. Those things do scare him, but his feelings also warm him up from the inside; just the thought of maybe having found something—or _someone_ —in Baekhyun he thought he could never have for himself before.

Maybe that’s what pushes him, on the 6th, to put forth the best birthday event for Baekhyun. In fact, it’s not much, not really—Yixing can’t afford that, anyway—but he hopes just the intention will be enough for Baekhyun to smile the way he often does, to radiate happiness the way he often does, and maybe to hold something else, something _more_ in his eyes Yixing desperately hopes to see.

He isn’t doing this for himself, though. It’s about Baekhyun. It’s always about Baekhyun.

When he knocks at Baekhyun’s door, that evening, he finds himself faced with happy half-moons and pink cheeks staring right back at him with glee and happiness. His heart swells.

“Happy birthday, Baekhyun-ah!” Yixing says with a lilt in his voice. His Korean is still wobbly.

But Baekhyun beams at his words, and it’s all that matters. “You came for me. You didn’t forget my birthday, hyung.”

“Of course not. It’s not because I had work all day that I was going to miss your birthday, silly.”

There’s a sheepish roll of eyes that welcomes him, but not long after, a pair of hands latch onto his own, pulling him inside. “Come on in, then, Mom made _patbingsu_ just for the occasion—”

“Actually,” Yixing interrupts, pulling at his hands in retaliation, “I was wondering if you, um. If you’d like to go out, with me, tonight.” His words sound so foreign, so strange, as if he’s asking something else entirely. Yixing is really just asking for one night out. One night, for them to share. Nothing… nothing more. He can’t afford more, anyway.

If not this life, maybe the next?

Baekhyun stops mid-sentence at Yixing’s words, but his eyes slowly fill with an excited eagerness. Yixing swims in it, awaiting. “Oh, yeah, sure, I mean—I’ll go ask, first. Wait for me here!”

After that, Baekhyun runs inside and almost trips on his feet (or was it one of the cardboard boxes still spread out on the ground?), and Yixing supresses a laugh. He shifts his weight on one foot, then the other, slightly impatient. It’s not like him, but the thrum in his bones is enough to unsettle him, to want to rush things and just be out there with Baekhyun already, because there is so much they have to see. So much they have to do, and so little time.

Yixing hasn’t prepared anything, really, but it’s the _possibilities_ —the knowledge of an evening, all for themselves, and what it holds, that makes his skin sizzle with trepidation.

Disrupting his thoughts with a blinding smile, Baekhyun rushes back suddenly, a jacket over his shoulders and two Styrofoam cups in his hands with two assorted spoons. “Mom said yes, and she packed this, too,” he says, brandishing one of the cups towards Yixing, who takes it gingerly. “Come on out, then.”

Snacks in hand, they run down the stairs to the street, and it hits Yixing, suddenly. They’re out there, just the two of them, and there’s so much to _do_. There’s no burden; no store to attend to, no neighbors to pay mind to, no limits prescribed by four walls and a ceiling. They’re free to go, even for just tonight, _bingsu_ in their hands and leaving a sweet taste in their mouths.

“So,” Baekhyun starts around a bite of his shaved ice. “Where are we going?”

And that’s the question, really, isn’t it? “I, uh. To be honest, I think I got mixed up with my plans along the way,” Yixing answers truthfully. Suddenly, just a promenade in the evening sounds like something rather ridiculous to do, and maybe—definitely—not enough to celebrate Baekhyun.

Baekhyun deserves to be celebrated.

Baekhyun, who turns to him with a surprised look but determined eyes. “Oh, okay. Well, let’s just make the most out of our night, then, shall we?”

Yixing is glad Baekhyun agrees without him having to say anything, but there’s still something that remains. “It’s your birthday, though. I wanted it to be perfect—”

“I have my favourite snack in my hands and my best friend by my side,” Baekhyun starts. “We have about four hours to ourselves before my mom wants me back home. I’m turning nineteen today, and I think… I think this is the happiest I’ve been since I left home. So really,” he turns to Yixing with a softer, more profound smile, “it’s already perfect, Yixing.”

Words can’t find their way through Yixing’s throat, thoughts can’t seem to be sorted out in his head. So Yixing can only smile, mustering the most genuine happiness he can through it, and hopes Baekhyun sees through him.

They walk through Chinatown’s streets slowly, taking their time. Baekhyun tells him more about what was life back home, in Korea, with distracted eyes that speak from far, far away—how things were so different yet the same; how much he loves it back there, how much he misses his friends. He moves his hands a lot when he talks, which often prompts him to stop short in his words as he tries not to spill more of his shaved ice onto the ground. Each time, Yixing snorts a laugh, and Baekhyun huffs at it, good-heartedly.

Out of curiosity—both his and Baekhyun’s—they sometimes pop into small stores, staring at little souvenirs and marvelling at them before getting kicked out once the patrons realize they’re not buying anything. Yixing lets a few anecdotes of his own slip, when something reminds him of the China he’s left over three years ago now.

They spend a little more time in one of the bigger shops lining the street; from the window, the photo booth had attracted Baekhyun’s eyes, who then proceeded to insistently pull at Yixing’s t-shirt sleeve until the older relented and agreed to take pictures.

“I’ve never done this before,” Baekhyun muses absently as they shuffle in the tight space. The background behind them is a deep red, velvety in texture and allure. “Good thing I took my pocket money along.”

“No, Baekhyun, I’ll pay this time, it’s your—”

“Ssshh, hyung,” Baekhyun presses a finger against Yixing’s lips, who shuts up immediately. The touch burns, even though the pressure of Baekhyun’s index is soft against his chapped lips. Yixing desperately wants to lick them, suddenly. “It _is_ my birthday, and also my birthday money, so _I_ get to decide how _I_ want to spend it. So don’t even try, yeah?” A scrunch of the nose, a playful little smile. “It’s not even that expensive, hyung. It’ll be fun!”

Baekhyun still has his hand up, finger pushing against Yixing’s mouth, and it’s only when Yixing pointedly looks down at his hand that Baekhyun startles, moving away. Yixing licks his lips, but it doesn’t feel the same. The burn is gone. “Fine, okay. I’ll let you have at it, but only because it’s your birthday.”

A shy smile makes its way to Baekhyun’s lips, and it’s enough. His cheeks are dusted pink, and Yixing pretends he doesn’t notice.

“Ready?” Baekhyun asks, when he has slid the coins inside.

Yixing doesn’t get to reply, though—the shutter already goes off once, startling them both. Baekhyun barks a sudden laugh, and Yixing follows him, but then Baekhyun suddenly hushes him. “Come on, we don’t have much time!”

They make it just in time for the second shot—Baekhyun has his arms around Yixing’s neck, cheeks pressed against one another, Baekhyun’s smile pushing against Yixing’s face.

“You’re close,” Yixing notes, like it’s not obvious.

“This place is tiny,” Baekhyun replies, because it’s obvious. “Quick!”

The third shot is more relaxed. Their smiles are softer, and Yixing gets lost in Baekhyun’s warmth just for a moment while they stand still for the camera to capture their faces. It feels nice, being so close to Baekhyun, even for only a few stilled moments like these.

“Hyung, just one more,” the younger breathes next to him, but it’s said excitedly. “Pull a silly face. Can you even do that?”

“Of course I can!”

 _Click!_ —Baekhyun winks at the camera with a fierce smile, showing too much of his teeth, eyes lost in crinkles. Yixing pushes air into his cheeks, protruding bottom lip, eyes wide. Thankfully, the shutter goes quickly—just when it clicks, they’re doubling over, laughing, and Yixing can barely catch his breath at the sound of Baekhyun’s loud cheer with how fast his heart is beating.

They pick up their shots and leave the shop in hurried steps, before walking leisurely in the streets as they observe the pictures. Their shoulders sometimes bump, noses directed down at the photo paper band in their hands.

“You’re looking at me in the first one, like you’re all lost,” Baekhyun snickers. “It’s cute.”

“I like the second one,” Yixing notes. “Our faces are all squished. It’s funny.” He doesn’t admit, out loud, that his favourite is in fact the third one—the one where Baekhyun has his eyes on him, soft and sincere, and it makes him feel hot from the inside and all over his skin.

He folds the paper in two, tucking it safely in his pocket. That’s a memory he vows never to lose.

Soon after, their earlier banter resumes—they walk and talk and share, their feet light as they skip consciously not to step on lying garbage or other not so pleasant miscellany in the streets. Sometimes, Baekhyun scrunches his nose at the smell, and Yixing pinches his cheek.

“You know,” Baekhyun says, rubbing at his face absentmindedly, “more often than not, I feel like this city stinks. Actually, scratch that—all the time, even.”

Yixing couldn’t have said it any better. “It kind of does. But I guess… that’s part of its charm?”

“What, a stinking town?” Baekhyun snorts. “New York City, the city of piss-smelling streets and dirty sidewalks.” He pulls his tongue at his words, before laughter takes over him. “I can’t believe we left Seoul for this.”

Yixing jostles his shoulder as they walk. “That’s not what I meant. You know how this place is like…” He moves his hand around, fingers curling in the air to motion at their surroundings. It’s as if he’s trying to capture the ever-constant bustle of the city with his gesture, fingers flexing towards the metropolis’ encompassing energy. “It’s always moving. There’s always something happening. It’s never asleep. It’s kind of cool, actually.”

“Have you ever been outside of Chinatown, then?” Baekhyun inquires. “Out there, in the _big city_.”

“Of course. This city _is_ immense, you know,” Yixing remarks. “And there’s not one corner that looks like another.”

“Uh. Not sure about that. I think I got lost in this neighborhood alone, like, ten times since I moved here.” Yixing’s laughter rings so loud in the street he has to clamp a hand over his mouth to stop himself. Baekhyun turns sharply to look at him, eyes wide and laughter silent. “Don’t make fun of me, hyung!”

“Tiny, tiny, Baekhyunnie,” Yixing sighs, eyes still smiling. He’s pretty sure his cheek is dimpling, too, because Baekhyun is staring. “Don’t worry, in no time, you’ll know this neighborhood like the back of your hand.”

At that, Baekhyun falls silent. He’s still smiling shyly, but there’s something lost to it, and it makes Yixing stop in his tracks.

“Everything okay?”

Baekhyun shakes his head insistently, but he’s still not looking at Yixing. “Yeah, yes, of course. You’re probably right,” he adds, adding a swing to his step. Yixing follows along, although he still feels as though it’s a little odd. “I’ll become prince of this town in no time.”

“Prince, huh,” repeats Yixing. “Suits you.”

“You think so?” Baekhyun’s cheer is back, and Yixing latches onto it.

“Absolutely.”

It seems like Baekhyun has nothing to say to that, but that’s alright. Yixing is content just watching him smile, walking alongside him, the low streetlights and neon signs surrounding them painting pretty shadows across his face.

“It’s getting late,” he muses distractedly. “We should head back.”

“I don’t want to go home just yet,” Baekhyun whines.

“We don’t have to,” Yixing presses. “I have an idea. It was my original plan, actually.”

Without thinking twice, he grabs onto Baekhyun’s hand, pulling him back to where they came from. When they reach Baekhyun’s complex, they keep walking, and Baekhyun squeezes his fingers to get his attention. Yixing squeezes back almost by reflex.

“Where are we going?”

“My place,” Yixing answers. “Well, not exactly, but that’s where we’re headed, anyway.”

“Oh.”

Baekhyun’s hand fits so seamlessly in Yixing’s own. He almost stops right there, in the middle of the street, just to play with Baekhyun’s fingers and prompt him to talk so he can listen to his voice again and again.

Once they reach Yixing’s family store at the end of the street, they head straight for the back, where Yixing leads them through the staircase and up, up, up.

“The rooftop?” Baekhyun asks, but it’s futile. They’ve already reached the top, the city sky high above them, passing cars and the hustle-bustle of the street a mellow murmur coming from below.

Yixing nods. “The city always looks best like that, at night.” It’s only nine in the evening, but it’s not like they can stay up for much longer, out in the streets. Plus, the sun has set for over an hour now, and the darkness has already swallowed the city.

Baekhyun has his back turned towards him, so Yixing approaches him. His hand settles at the small of his back like it belongs there.

“You’re right,” Baekhyun says, murmuring tone low between them, leaning into Yixing’s touch. He turns to look at Yixing, and the latter startles. They’re so close; from this near, he can see the irregularities in Baekhyun’s skin and the slick tint of his lips. “Sit with me?”

Yixing knows he’s still staring, but he replies nonetheless. “It’s dirty, up here.”

“I have my jacket.” Yixing yearns for Baekhyun’s warmth as soon as he steps away, but lets it be, watches as Baekhyun takes off his jacket and puts it down for them to sit on. He leaves a small spot for Yixing, tapping at it with his hand.

“You’ll get cold,” Yixing notes, but sits down nonetheless.

“I have you to keep me warm,” replies Baekhyun, easily, tone light. He pulls at Yixing’s arm and puts it around his shoulders.

They settle like that, silent for a few moments. It feels natural, like they belong; it’s like they’ve done this a thousand times before and they’re only meant to do it over and over again.

Yixing is hit with that wave of déjà vu once more, although… there’s something missing. It’s like he’s recalling memories that are yet to happen, and the only certainty that remains is Baekhyun, always Baekhyun.

“Hyung,” Baekhyun’s voice startles him. “Do you think we’ve met before?”

“What?”

“Doesn’t this… doesn’t this feel familiar, to you?”

A soft laugh. “How did you know?”

Baekhyun turns to him. “So it does, huh?”

Yixing nods. “You think we met before, and forgot?”

Baekhyun settles back under Yixing’s arm. Yixing pulls him close, breathing at his hair. Baekhyun smells like smoke and the undecipherable scent of home. “Something like that. There’s this myth I heard once, back home. From an old lady in the country side. She said that humans go through four lives.”

“Four lives?”

“Mmh. A life of planting, a life of watering, a life of harvesting, and a life of using the harvest. Maybe we met before, during one of those lives, hyung.”

Yixing ponders the thought. Four lifetimes by Baekhyun’s side. “What if we didn’t meet in the right order?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if this is your first life, and my last?”

Baekhyun tuts, nuzzling against Yixing’s neck. Yixing shivers. “That’s impossible. We must have met before.”

“Do you think we’ll meet again?”

“I would hope so. Don’t miss me too much until then, hyung.”

Yixing sighs contentedly. “You’re here with me now, Baekhyun. I have nothing to worry about.”

Silence falls again. The low noise of the streets acts like a lullaby; not unlike the noise of the busy store hours Yixing sometimes likes to take apart during his shifts. It’s a soft hum, sometimes punctuated by a louder honk or a series of yelled words, but it keeps that reassuring, uniform structure.

“We can’t see the stars from up here,” Baekhyun sighs. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the stars in this city.”

“You can’t,” Yixing replies. “But this view offers you so much more to look at, though.” Lit up businesses and drunken passersby, down in the streets. In the horizon, high skyscrapers that rise higher than where they sit, tickling the clouds with their pointy tips, peeking from the irregular cityscape at odd intervals.

“I don’t really care about that,” Baekhyun mumbles. His voice sounds tired, sleepy. Maybe they should head back. Yixing dreads the thought.

There’s a pause before Baekhyun speaks again. “Hyung. If we met before, what life do you think we’re living in, now?”

It’s said shyly, sleepily. They really should head back. “I don’t know.”

“I just hope it’s not the last,” Baekhyun says. It’s sad, now, the way he speaks the words. “That’s not fair, if it is.”

Yixing lets Baekhyun’s cryptic words hang in the air. Any moment with Baekhyun, he muses, is enough, be it the first or the last.

***

“Lu-ge,” Yixing tests, tone shy. He doesn’t like the tone of his own voice—slightly hesitant, like there’s something else in his mind he’s not letting on just yet. “Lu Han, do you believe in, like, reincarnation and stuff?”

It’s the Monday after Baekhyun’s birthday, and both Lu Han and Yixing are on laundry duty. Lu Han sits on the floor against the engine containing his load, head against the machine. At this time of the day—especially on Mondays—very few customers make it to the Wu’s laundromat. Yifan, the owners’ son, is barely paying mind to them; he had only acknowledged them with a nod and a soft smile before going back out at the back of the store.

Lu Han raises an eyebrow at Yixing’s words. “Reincarnation? Like, an endless cycle of life and death, that kind of thing?”

Yixing faces him, sitting on his own machine, legs swaying and heels sometimes hitting against the metal of the engine. “Sort of? Not, like, endless cycle, but…” He sighs. “I just heard this story, that’s it.”

Now, Lu Han has both his eyebrows raised in curiosity—and a bit of confusion, too. “Care to explain? Was it Old Lady Zhang, again?”

“No, no, it wasn’t,” Yixing corrects—although, now that he thinks about it, he should ask his grandmother about it as well. Maybe later. “It was Baekhyun, actually. He told me about this thing, about humans having four lives. A life of planting, a life of watering, a life of harvesting, and a life to cherish the harvest, or something.”

“A farmer’s legend, huh,” Lu Han ponders, tone light but eyes sharper than they were moments before. He’s observing Yixing with eagle-like precision, which clashes with the soft doe-eyed look he possesses. “So you’re asking me if I believe in that stuff? I’ve only just heard about it today, Yixing.”

Yixing rolls his eyes. “I was just wondering, though. What do you think?” He’s not sure why he’s asking. Maybe because his conversation with Baekhyun, that Wednesday night on Baekhyun’s birthday the week before, hasn’t left him alone since it had occurred. He can’t stop thinking about invisible stars and warm touches and past lives or future ones to come.

Lu Han, however, barely seems to think about it before he speaks. “Dunno,” he shrugs. “Sounds cool, though.”

Yixing is tempted to roll his eyes again. He doesn’t know what he was expecting. “Everything sounds ‘cool’ to you. Can’t have a proper conversation, I swear.”

A cheeky smile is thrown his way, and Yixing tries to ignore it, although an accomplice grin is pulling at his lips without him wanting it to be there. Damn it. “So what do _you_ think, then, Xing?”

It’s Yixing’s turn to shrug. “Let’s say it’s true,” he starts, thinking back to Baekhyun’s words, his questions, that still linger in his mind, “I think… I’d just like to know, which one I’m living right now. So I know… so I know what to do. What to expect. Maybe.” If it’s the first or the last time on this Earth, if it’s first or last meeting with Lu Han, Yifan. Baekhyun.

A low hum welcomes his words, but it soon turns sour, like Lu Han doesn’t agree with what he’s hearing. “Do you know what I think, then?” Yixing nods at him to continue. “I think, if you really live multiple times—if you have the need to, to like, accomplish a purpose or whatever—I think you’ll be brought back into this world for as many times as necessary. Be it four or twenty or just once, I think that’s only fair. Harvesting or planting or watering or whatever—that’s just legends. But if we’re talking, like, real stuff? I’d say that makes sense.”

“What if you don’t deserve a second chance? Or a third or twentieth one?”

“Then you only live once, and die,” Lu Han shrugs. Saying those things seems so easy to him, like he’s been through it before, like he knows better. It’s ridiculous, Yixing knows—and he also knows that his friend is probably simply unfazed by what he’s hearing, providing his friend with his opinion only for the sake of discussion—but it’s still enough to send a subtle chill down his spine. “So I guess, it’s either you get that one chance and you fail—or succeed, whatever—or you die and constantly come back to life for the sake of trying.”

“That sounds terribly depressing,” Yixing grumbles. Under him, the machine has stopped; he stands up and starts unloading it.

“Not really,” Lu Han replies behind him. Yixing hears him shuffle on the floor; probably standing up too, getting to the task at hand. “Not if you don’t stay hung up on those things. It’s fine, really, if you just focus on things like… _living_ , you know. Spending time doing stuff you love. Spending time _loving_ things, loving people. Don’t just sit and expect things, or expect someone to tell you what to do of your time. You’d just be wasting it while you could be out there, accomplishing things, be it your ‘lifelong purpose’ or whatever the fuck. Just make the best out of the time you’re given… everything will fall into place as you do just that.”

“Old age makes you wise, Lu-ge,” Yixing snorts. In reality, Lu Han’s words have left an imprint in his mind, but it’s still too fresh for him to consider just yet. He plays it off with a snarky remark, because that’s what he’s best at, when he wants to.

Lu Han scoffs, throwing one of his socks at him. Yixing laughs, the noise ringing loud in the room and odd in his ears.

***

In retrospect, there were hints all along that would have avoided Yixing the surprise of Baekhyun’s words. Really, had he paid attention, had he pressed his friend when he sometimes got too quiet or too closed off, had he wondered about what Baekhyun was feeling rather than how Baekhyun made him feel… maybe it wouldn’t be as much of a shock. Even just now, Yixing should have known, as Baekhyun was avoiding his eyes, was barely speaking a word. That should have been a warning sign.

Now, as he thinks back, Baekhyun’s words still hanging, fragile between them, Yixing realizes that the clues were there for him to see and put together all along.

It’s in the little things, really. The never quite emptied cardboard boxes lying around the Byuns’ too small apartment. The shy, almost guilty fake smiles and cloudy eyes Baekhyun gets when he’s reminded of the future.

“I’m moving, hyung. Next week.”

A future that doesn’t seem to involve Yixing, apparently.

Suddenly, the backroom of the shop where they’re seated seems too small, too suffocating. The closeness of the walls that was once comforting is now making Yixing dizzy, unstable. In the back of his mind, he wishes the store was busy, at this time—just so that the noise could drown everything out, so that he can pretend he imagined Baekhyun’s words, so that he can pretend they were never uttered in the first place.

He doesn’t know why it hits him so strongly, doesn’t know why he cares so much. In reality, he has an inkling as to why it hurts so much, maybe, but it’s hard to admit.

He doesn’t say any of that, though. Instead, he asks, “Where to?”

Across from him, game of chess long forgotten, Baekhyun squirms. His face is contorted with unease and something sad edges his eyes. No wonder why he couldn’t focus all this time, knowing the rules or not. “Seattle,” his voice murmurs. His lips barely move.

Seattle is all the way across the country. Three hours behind, about eight states away, and over two thousand miles too far.

When Baekhyun looks up, his eyebrows are drawn together, serious and imploring. “We’ll keep in touch, yeah?”

Yixing knows that’s bullshit. The phone is constantly busy when the line is working, his mom always dealing with arriving and departing merchandise and other store-related business. Their mail often gets lost, for some reason, and travelling is too costly. They can try, sure—and Yixing will, because he’s stubborn like that—but there’s the chilling expectation that it won’t last, that it’ll all get lost, and it’s clogging his throat.

He only nods, though, strongly enough to reassure Baekhyun. The younger probably is having the same thoughts, Yixing knows, but his shoulders ease a little, and Yixing holds onto that.

The silence is getting too deafening, too loud, so Yixing speaks. “I heard,” he tries again when his voice doesn’t pull through, clearing his throat, “I heard Seattle’s really nice. I’m sure you’ll love it.” It sounds like a lie even to his ears.

But Baekhyun plays along, nodding slowly, polite smile sketched across his features. Polite smiles are not Baekhyun’s best, by far. Yixing misses the familiar rectangular shape of his grin, the one that appears when Baekhyun laughs loudly or speaks too fast, his eyes growing wider with excitement or twisting into crescents above his round cheeks.

This smile is empty; a shell of what Baekhyun’s genuine happiness truly looks like.

“I’ll send you postcards,” Baekhyun says. He licks his lips, squirms again. Yixing doesn’t know what to do.

Before he can think of anything, though, his grandmother’s voice calls for him. He’s not sure what she’s saying—he’s not sure about anything—but it’s loud enough for the both of them to understand she means for Yixing to help her with something.

It seems as though it startles them both as well, as if the tension in the room becomes subtler, although still present. There’s so many words that are left unsaid, it feels like; as though there is more that they both need to tell, to hear. It’s like their conversation is suddenly cut short, never meant to be finished. Yixing hates how heavy it feels; the air around him, the weight in his chest, the look in Baekhyun’s eyes.

He stands up, maybe a little abruptly. “I’ll—I’ll go see what it is—” he motions towards the door vaguely. It all feels so wrong.

He doesn’t need to finish his sentence; Baekhyun nods in understanding, fingers fidgeting as he stands up slowly as well.

Baekhyun has pretty hands, Yixing notices. Perfectly suitable for piano playing—not that Yixing knows anything about piano, but.

That same feeling of déjà vu strikes him, and today, it’s only adding to his annoyance. He doesn’t need to feel like a part of his memory is slipping away from him, when a part of his life is currently about to leave him.

He’s not sure when Baekhyun came to mean so much to him.

“Hyung,” Baekhyun’s voice resonates in his mind, and Yixing is brought back in the room they’re standing. The shelves lining the wall feel unfamiliar, suddenly. “Yixing-hyung, I’ll… I’ll miss you, a lot.”

At those words, Yixing does the one thing he knows to do—he opens his arms, waiting, and Baekhyun rapidly makes his way to him, his own arms sliding around Yixing’s waist and his face buried in his shirt. Their breaths are shaky, but neither of them admits it.

“I’ll miss you too, Baekhyunnie,” Yixing says.

It still feels as though something is missing in their words, but Yixing can’t bring himself to push the words he has in mind out in the open. It would serve nothing; it might only make things considerably worse.

He hopes Baekhyun can still understand, through the steadiness of their embrace, the earnest tone of his voice.

***

“You really miss him, huh?” Yixing didn’t hear Lu Han come in until he spoke, startling him from his reading (although, if Yixing’s honest, he was slipping into slumber more than anything else). He heaves a sigh when he realizes it’s only his best friend, puts down his novel on the counter. The shop is not busy, this late in the evening. Lu Han has just come back from his hours at the factory. “You shouldn’t be reading during your shift hours, Xing. It makes you sleepy, and in turn customers think you’re lazy.”

“I don’t tell _you_ how to do your job,” Yixing grumbles, rubbing fatigue from his eyes with the back of his hand. It never seems to leave, not since Baekhyun… anyway.

“Yeah, ‘cause we both know I know better,” Lu Han says, smiling softly. “Doing okay?”

“I’m fine,” Yixing says. They both know he isn’t, not really.

Lu Han shows he doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he asks, “What’s that?”

When Yixing looks up, Lu Han is motioning at the piece of paper stuck between the pages of his book. There’s a sliver of blue and green that peeks out of the novel; blue skies and emerald trees that Yixing has never seen in person and will probably never be there to see.

He opens the book at the marked page, retains the page number in his memory. He picks up the postcard, hands it to Lu Han distractedly. He observes his friend as his eyes soften in understanding. “Seattle’s pretty.”

“It is,” replies Yixing. He doesn’t really care what Seattle looks like. He likes it here, in New York, even with the bad smells and busy sidewalks and condescending locals.

Even without Baekhyun.

Lu Han snorts, and Yixing looks up to find him looking at the back of the picture. “He drew everything he wanted to say instead of writing it down?”

“Baekhyun’s English still isn’t perfect,” Yixing reminds him, “and he doesn’t know how to write it, anyway. Well, he knows—but he’s not that good, so. He draws instead.” Clumsy little stick figures, punctuated with exclamation marks at occasion to emphasize on what Yixing guesses are particularly exciting stories. It’s hard to understand them, most of the time, but they make him smile nonetheless, even if it tastes a little bitter in his throat.

He hasn’t gotten a new postcard in over a month. Yixing doesn’t like to think about it.

Lu Han huffs a soft chuckle. “He’s ridiculous,” he murmurs. “But it’s cute. No wonder you’re in love with him.”

Yixing stops, stares at Lu Han with wide eyes.

 _No wonder you’re in love with him_. It’s only been moments, _seconds_ , but the words are replaying in a frenzy in Yixing’s head, dragged out and hammering his thoughts.

Time stops as well, or maybe just in Yixing’s mind.

He’s not in love with anyone. Yixing’s not allowed to be in love with anyone.

Lu Han takes a few moments to look up, and when he does, he meets Yixing’s eyes with something like dare in his look. Another wave of something jolts in Yixing. “What, you thought I wouldn’t notice?”

“I’m not in love with Baekhyun,” Yixing retorts weakly. “I’m not in love with anyone.”

Before replying, Lu Han looks around, licking his lips. When he thinks whatever he’s looking for is satisfactory, he turns back to Yixing. “Xing, you only had eyes for him the entire time he was there. And it was different, too. All…” Lu Han scrunches up his face, reminiscing. “Soft and shit. I was almost jealous for a while. Thought Baekhyunnie would steal my best friend, or something,” he winks.

“No!” Yixing interrupts, but there’s something that tells him that Baekhyun was different, in a way that Lu Han wasn’t. He meant something more. Lu Han was his best friend and will always be, but maybe Baekhyun was meant to be something else.

“I know that now,” Lu Han rolls his eyes. “But then… I don’t know. Like, at first I thought it was weird. But then…” Lu Han shrugs. He leans against the counter, elbows on each side of his body, hands up and supporting his chin. “You were good to him, and he was good to you, too. And I thought, if love’s anything, then that’s what it should be about, right? Just… people being good to each other.”

“I’m not…” Yixing’s never really said it out loud, and maybe now is not the time yet—he doesn’t want to say something he’ll regret; a lie of sorts. “Maybe it’s better that way, then.”

Lu Han sighs, reaches up to ruffle his hair. “Cheer up, pretty boy,” he says. “Wanna see something freaky? I don’t know if it’ll actually cheer you up. It might make things worse, even, but. It’s worth the try. That’s why I’m here anyway.”

Yixing doesn’t understand the sudden change in topics—as though Yixing maybe possibly being attracted to another male isn’t much of a big deal, let alone him being in love with Baekhyun, a friend that’s now too far away to care for—but he welcomes it, because the way Lu Han is talking is intriguing enough.

“How freaky?”

“‘ _Reincarnation might be real and I might have the proof of it_ ’ kind of freaky,” Lu Han says, extracting a pamphlet from his jacket pocket. “I don’t even believe it myself, but my eyes never fail me, usually, and now that I can _see_ it… Anyway, here, have a look.”

The pamphlet is a promotional one, detailing the happenings on an exhibition of some Joseon-era Korean scripts and paintings, at a gallery in Manhattan. Yixing scans through the info, and he’s about to ask Lu Han what he means as he opens the pamphlet, and stops short.

This is impossible, Yixing thinks, but the back of his mind is screaming, convincing him that his eyes aren’t, in fact, deceiving him.

Lu Han’s voice is soft when he speaks. “They were handing out those at the factory’s entrance,” he explains. “I wasn’t even going to pick one up, but… dunno. I just did. Weird, huh, how things turn out?”

Yixing hears him, but doesn’t. On the paper, amongst the photos of artefacts, an old painting stares back at him, and there are tears welling in his eyes. He doesn’t want them there, but they slide against his cheeks, and he doesn’t _understand_.

The parchment displays a young man, oil paint delicately spread across the paper, blue and red fabrics draped across his figure. He’s not the main subject of the painting—King Sunjo of Joseon is, sitting proudly next to him, more prominent and younger even.

Yixing doesn’t even know _anything_ of Korean history. How does he even…

He takes his eyes back on the young man, and it’s definitely him. Although the style varies and the realism of the piece isn’t ideal, there is no debate standing. The young scholar at King Sunjo’s side is undeniably Byun Baekhyun—or at least, a young man that resembles him massively, enough to seemingly bring Yixing to inexplicable tears.

Challenging eyes and open expression. Images of a broad smile—Baekhyun’s, definitely, without a doubt—strike him, and they’re clearer than ever, but Baekhyun isn’t wearing his usual coloured tees and shorts—no, he’s wearing expenses of heavy fabric, messy hair tied together under a high hat, fast and easy speech spilling from his mouth.

“How is that…” Yixing starts, but he can’t finish. He doesn’t know what to say, vivid images replaying in his mind and vanishing instantly, over and over again.

“I told you,” Lu Han says from far away. Yixing thinks he has moved to stand beside him, behind the counter, looking over his shoulder. “That’s Baekhyun, isn’t it?”

“It can’t be, though,” Yixing presses, but how could it not be? If even Lu Han has noticed, how else could they explain any of this? “That’s not possible.” Unless…

“Maybe Baekhyunnie’s farmer legends weren’t all bullshit, after all,” Lu Han muses amusedly. “Maybe we do have, like, many lives and stuff.”

“Lu Han,” Yixing starts, realization dawning on him—or maybe he’s just coming to terms with it. “I think we’ve met? Before? Baekhyun and I, I think…”

Lu Han stills for a moment, before laughing suddenly, loudly. “You’re kidding me. Seriously?”

“No, I mean… God.” Yixing puts down the pamphlet, runs a hand through his hair, brushes his tears away. They’ve stopped falling now, and he breathes deeply. Slowly, the setting surrounding him comes back to him—the shop, the late evening drawing near night time, the soft June breeze waltzing through from the door and across the aisles. “I’ve always felt, like, I knew him for a long time. Sort of. When we were together. Even though we had only met, like, in March.” It makes little sense, but it’s enough for Lu Han to nod slowly. “And when I look at this—” he points to the pamphlet “—I feel like I remember. Like I remember _that_ Baekhyun, too. Even though… I mean. I can’t possibly have lived in Joseon-era Korea, right?”

“To be honest, at this point, I don’t know what’s possible and what isn’t,” Lu Han shrugs. He seems intrigued, but also more amused about all this, unaware of the slight tremor that shakes Yixing instead. “If what you’re saying is true, maybe you guys met, like, in a past life—in this case, in 19th century Korea. A love story that keeps on happening, over and over again…” he adds, a wistful yet playful smile etched on his lips.

“We didn’t, I mean, we don’t…” Yixing can’t find his words, but hope blooms suddenly in his chest.

Memories from the future, making little sense before, but maybe they do have a purpose, now. Maybe they do mean something.

“So maybe you didn’t get the long-lasting, loving relationship you were hoping for _now_ ,” Lu Han presses, as though reading Yixing’s thoughts. “But if not this life… maybe the next?”

Those words, he’s heard them a thousand times before, it seems. Yixing is starting to think it’s not a coincidence, anymore.

_“Do you think we’ll meet again?”_

_“I would hope so. Don’t miss me too much until then, hyung.”_

“Maybe,” Yixing says to Lu Han, and maybe to Baekhyun, too.

 

 

***

 

 

**iii. life of harvesting**

_Beijing, China, November 2016_

“But _hyung_ , I miss you already.”

“I left yesterday. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours—”

“Do not belittle my feelings, hyung! I _miss_ you.”

Yixing sighs over the phone. He left Shanghai for Beijing last night only, and he isn’t meant to stay more than three days in the capital. Baekhyun is just being annoying.

It’s kind of cute, though. Yixing knows that Baekhyun also knows it, and it’s hard to fight the smile that pulls at his lips.

“How are you up this early anyway?” Yixing asks. It’s only a few minutes before nine in the morning; at this time, Baekhyun is usually lounging in bed, if not completely asleep.

Around him, students trudge to class, eyes heavy with lack of sleep and carrying travel mugs that are most likely filled to the brim with coffee. Yixing walks leisurely amongst them, messenger bag hitting his right thigh at every step he takes. His iced coffee is more lukewarm than anything at this point, ice cubes completely melted, its caffeine taste diluted and faint.

At the end of the line, Baekhyun groans. “Zitao was late to work,” he says, tone sour. Yixing smiles further. “He made so much noise getting ready that it was just impossible for me to fall back asleep.”

“So logically, rather than going about your day, you just decided to phone me up.”

Yixing imagines Baekhyun sigh contentedly, still bundled up in his bed. Something about it makes him feel so light, and he doesn’t question the feeling as it eases into him. “Of course, hyung,” Baekhyun singsongs. “There’s no better way for me to start my day.”

“Go to class, Baek,” Yixing admonishes, although with amusement. “You’re not paying international student fees to skip class and get bad grades.”

“I never get bad grades,” Baekhyun’s tinny voice quips through the speakers. “Professors just have very bad judgement and cannot assess my skills properly.”

It’s a bit of a lie—Baekhyun is somewhat of a brilliant student, and teachers absolutely love him despite his bad habits. It’s just that he gets slightly lazy in the mornings, causing him to be unnecessarily late at times and getting reprimanded for missing precious practice time.

“Stop making excuses, Baekhyun. And I have to go,” Yixing adds, moving the phone away from his ear to check the time. It’s ten after nine, now, and he has to reach the auditorium in five minutes, tops. “I’ll talk to you later?”

“Like we don’t spend our days texting each other,” Baekhyun says, probably with a roll of eyes, but Yixing can hear the softness of his tone. Yixing bites his bottom lip. “I’ll call you!”

They hang up just as Yixing reaches the doors to the building’s main entrance, following the signs to the first conference he’s attending. His three-day stay in Beijing is meant for him to attend this particular seminar, for credit. Beijing’s Communication University has partnered with Shanghai’s Conservatory of Music to offer two seminars—one in the capital, one in the metropolis—for the two institutions’ Recording Arts students. As a Music Production student at the Conservatory, Yixing was required to attend; it leaves him more excited rather than bothered, really, when he loves what he does so much and he’s being offered with such incredible opportunities.

The first day goes by in a flash, conferences and workshops lined up one after the other throughout the day. Yixing doesn’t make it out of the campus until six that evening, reaching for his phone for the first time since morning. His head is swimming slightly, both with ideas and exhaustion, but it’s not unwelcomed. The simmering eagerness under his skin is exciting and motivating, no matter how tiring today was.

He has a melody in mind; Yixing is no skilled composer—not in theory, anyway; music theory has always been somewhat futile to him and his more intrinsic ways of approaching things—but he does keep a collection of homemade tracks sitting in his laptop, songs that have never really seen the light of day, and maybe what he has in mind might add itself to that compilation.

When he presses on the home button of his phone, jolting it awake, he’s welcomed with a stream of notifications on the screen. A quick scroll tells him that most of them come from Baekhyun—texts, Kakao notifications, WeChat ones too, even a call in the middle of the afternoon. Yixing chuckles.

“You impatient brat,” he mutters under his breath, unbelieving—except, really, that’s just who Baekhyun is, and it’s not like Yixing minds at all.

He unlocks his phone, jots down a few song ideas in his Notes app, before going through Baekhyun’s paraphernalia.

Three selfies; one in bed taken shortly after their morning call, hair up in sloppy soft spikes; another one in class, his right hand covering half of his face; the last one at work, his prim white waiter’s mandatory button down making him look much more mature and serious than he often acts.

In between, texts and a variety of emoticons detail Baekhyun’s day, varying in tones and spelling, are scattered throughout the hours. Most of them are silly complaints, followed by tiny little anecdotes and quite a few “ _this reminded me of youuu_ ” instances that make Yixing smile despite himself.

He catches the bus to his hotel, typing up a stream of replies as he sits in the vehicle.

_yah….. you’ve missed me that much, huh? at least you made it to class, good on you lazy bean_

Click! A picture of the moving scenery through the dirty bus windows. _beijing is so pretty baekhyunnie!!!! we should come together sometime :) i know all the best places it’s gonna be fun_

He tells Baekhyun about his day, his ideas. Yixing smiles through it all, rattling little instances not unlike Baekhyun’s that reminded him of the younger throughout the day, shares a snippet of what he’s learned in his various workshops, promises to play him a couple of his new song ideas once he’s back. Around him, the city moves, shifts, thrives. The lull of the bus moving is relaxing.

_i’m sorry i’m so busy :(( but soon enough i’ll be back and it’s like i never left, i promise. we should eat out when i’m back….. :)_

He doesn’t expect Baekhyun to reply anytime soon, but just when he’s about to get off to his stop, his phone buzzes in his hand.

_don’t miss me too much until then, hyung~ <3_

The message makes his heart flutter, but there’s something else that makes him frown, too. Somehow, the words ring familiar, and there’s that odd feeling he sometimes get that’s coming back to him right now.

It’s like Yixing can hear Baekhyun utter the words, crystal clear like a memory of his, at the back of his mind. A strange déjà vu that never really leaves him, when Baekhyun is involved.

They’ve known each other for about two or three years now, having met in first year at the Conservatory in one of their music theory classes. Baekhyun studies Piano Performance—his hands are suited for it, Yixing thinks, and tells him often—and it’s a bit of a miracle he is, really, when Baekhyun can’t sit still for more than two minutes and is constantly a source of distraction to himself and his classmates. His talent, however, is incontestable, and he is rigorous and dedicated in his art like no other musician Yixing knows.

In the time they’ve known each other, more than once, Yixing has felt that strange familiarity between the two of them—words that seem like they have already been spoken; memories flashing through his mind he’s certain to have never lived through but that are there nonetheless; through it all, the constant feeling of having known Baekhyun for far longer than he truly has. It goes hand in hand with the strong complicity he shares with his friend which often gets them confused for a couple rather than the best friends pair they are.

Not that Yixing hasn’t considered the thought, but. That’s another story.

He stares at the text for a short moment, before shaking his head. Silly thoughts, that’s all they are.

That night, back at the hotel, Yixing spends over two hours with Baekhyun on the phone, lounging on his unmade bed, staring at the too close bedroom walls that surround him without really looking at them. If anyone were to ask him what they talked about, Yixing probably wouldn’t find the words to answer—but he could, however, pick apart Baekhyun’s voice, convey just how it delves into low hums and back up in high exclamations, speak about how his voice is something like a melody, a song that Yixing feels he has known his entire life.

***

Yixing’s second day in Beijing goes the same way as the first one, for the most part.

He had the occasion, in the afternoon at the University, to turn his song ideas into projects during a composition workshop. What was before a simple thought is now taking form in the lined up tracks on his Logic Pro program, coloured bands that each hold a beat, a structure, a melody.

It’s exciting, to say the least. He can’t wait to show Baekhyun.

His second day also leaves him more time in the evening for a walk through the city. Although Yixing can’t stay up late for long, as he has still morning classes the next day before his departure in the afternoon, the promenade he takes through the few familiar streets of the capital manages to ease his mind.

Pictures make their way to Baekhyun through it all—shots of the busy streets and rushing cars, old men at the front of tea shops in calmer areas, simple snapshots of pretty buildings Yixing knows only please Baekhyun because Yixing thinks they’re cute.

He spends particularly more time in the area around the Forbidden City, marvelling at the surrounding streets and all they have to offer—gray brick buildings paired with red and golden signs, windows adorning intricate designs, tourists staring up with amazed wide eyes and pointing their DSLR cameras to every corner they can find. The thrumming activity of the area seeps in Yixing’s bones contagiously, leaving him giddy and rapt with subtle wonder.

It’s not Yixing’s first time in Beijing, but seeing those places and rediscovering them all over again, after so much time has passed, it’s refreshing, invigorating. As he snaps more pictures for Baekhyun, he thinks that he’s sharing it with him, too, after all. 

He sends them all on his way back to the hotel, dropping off a few stops early on the subway line with the purpose of getting something to eat with dinner time approaching. Soon after, his phone buzzes in his hand.

_hyung >.< you’re making me miss you even more… i swear i’m taking the next train to beijing_

Yixing smiles down at his phone. He types up a reply as he stops by a convenience store to buy snacks before heading back, navigating the aisles distractedly, making sure not to knock anything over.

_i already promised you a visit, remember? :) and i’ll be back tomorrow, stop whining~_

When he pockets his phone, he looks up and nods at the old man behind the counter, at the far back of the store.

Yixing can’t see him clearly from where he stands, especially as shadows fall across the man’s face, but it’s as though the old merchant is staring right at him, piercing gaze unmoving. It lasts for a few seconds, leaving Yixing standing in place, waiting for something to happen, expecting him to speak up…

But, the old man clears his throat, goes back to the book on his lap, and the moment is broken.

Uh. Weird.

Unfazed, Yixing starts walking, eyeing the various snacks. Maybe he should bring some for Baekhyun, too. It’s not like the younger hasn’t had his fair share of Chinese sweets by now—he’s nothing short of obsessed, in fact, and it’s probably destroying his body slowly but surely—but despite it all, maybe Yixing can find something Baekhyun hasn’t tried yet here.

“What would our Baekhyunnie enjoy, hm?” he murmurs to himself, eyes scanning the shelves. Chocolate bars are a classic, but it’s not like there’s much innovation to bring through chocolatey sweets. What about chips? Maybe one of these flavours Baekhyun hasn’t tried yet—

“Excuse me?”

The voice comes from the man at the end of the room, and when Yixing snaps his head up to look, the older man is staring back at him again, almost urgently.

He has moved now; he’s gotten up from his seat and is leaning against the counter, old figure clutching against the wood to maintain his balance. The light is now hitting his face; he must be in his sixties, wrinkles cutting deep in his skin, but his eyes are still clear and lively.

Yixing knows those eyes, he realizes suddenly.

He doesn’t know where from—or how that’s even remotely _possible_ , really—but the eyes pinning him down to his feet are extremely familiar, and he cannot look away.

An image of the same man, much younger, wearing tight t-shirts and walking beside him along streets he’s never seen before flash through his mind. Doe eyes and a cheeky smile and the strong smell of the city—not Beijing, nor even Shanghai—haunt his thoughts, suddenly. Yixing can’t tell, though, where they come from, or what they mean.

Before he can say anything, or even make sense of his thoughts, the old man speaks again, and his voice is soft, softer and more frail than Yixing remembers— _how_ does he even remember? “Oh my God. There’s no way.”

“Excuse me?” Yixing asks in turn. He can’t understand the man’s words, along with the jumble of nonsensical thoughts in his mind, too. For some reason, however, he can’t look away, can’t ignore what’s happening.

The man is still staring at him—in fact, he looks like he’s studying Yixing, eyes darting but never once leaving him, almost calculating in the way they detail every inch of Yixing’s face. He mutters a few undecipherable words under his breath, before he speaks up for Yixing to hear.

“You look exactly like…” A huff of breath, a slight coughing fit. He pauses, before addressing himself directly to Yixing, eyes serious. “Listen, kid, what I’m gonna say… it’s gonna sound weird, okay? But bear with me for a second, yeah?”

Yixing is here to buy snacks, he suddenly remembers. Somehow, it makes the situation even more ridiculous, even more insane. “Sir, what do you…”

“You were talking about your friend, just now, right?” the man says, eyes still insistent, penetrating, even. Yixing can’t look away, both certain and confused as to whether he’s truly seen them before. “Yeah?”

 _Why do you care?_ Yixing wants to ask. But then again, it wouldn’t answer the questions in his head—namely, why this man he’s never seen before feel so familiar, and why he’s compelled to talk even though he probably shouldn’t.

“I was,” Yixing replies, unsure. He shuffles on his feet, darting looks around the shop. It’s almost as though the walls around him grew closer together, making the space seem smaller than it really is—or maybe that’s just Yixing’s head playing tricks on him. “I was, um, planning to buy him snacks, ‘cause I live in Shanghai actually, and my friend over there, he—”

He stops, because surely, _surely_ the man facing him doesn’t care about any of that. Yixing has never witnessed himself become so suddenly talkative and willing to share, especially not with a stranger a few decades older than he is.

Except with Baekhyun. But this man is _nothing_ like him.

“Shanghai, huh,” the man repeats. He seems to mull over his words, before deciding against it, asking away his question anyway. “Your friend, he’s Korean, isn’t he?”

Yixing stops, for a moment, taken aback. Now, talk about a wild guess.

When he recollects his thoughts, he stutters, “Uh—yeah, he is, actually, but how do you—”

“Byun Baekhyun? That’s his name, right?”

Silence.

Now, that’s downright freaky, if not awfully creepy; somewhat terrifying, even.

Chills run down Yixing’s spine, and it almost makes him forget the odd setting in which he’s having this conversation—a small convenience store in Beijing, of all places. It’s as though time stops all around him, and there’s only this old man and his enigmatic words and shiver-inducing assumptions.

Why are they even _having_ this conversation at all? But most importantly, how does this man even know about Baekhyun’s name, or ethnicity, or—

“I’m right, aren’t I?” the old man asks when Yixing seemingly isn’t about to say anything. He sounds so young, his voice sounding clearer in Yixing’s head than it probably does to his ears. “That’s his name, isn’t it? Byun Baekhyun… And you, kid,” the man adds, pointing a finger towards Yixing, who jerks at the motion, taking a step back.

“What—what about me?”

“You’re Zhang Yixing, aren’t you?”

Something icy cold washes through Yixing all at once. It leaves him frozen in place, unable to speak, unable to comprehend what’s happening—not that he’s understood a word the man has said for the past few minutes, really, but the fact remains.

This is weird.

Scratch that. This is absolutely alarming.

Maybe Yixing should call the police. Maybe he should run away, and then consider calling the police. Really, anything, absolutely _anything_ beats staying here, in this nowhere store, talking to what seemingly seems to be a madman who knows far too much about Yixing’s life than he should.

“Before you freak out,” the man is still talking, as if Yixing had the mind to listen to him—and yet he _does_ stay and listen, because for some reason, he’s swallowing every word coming out of this strange man’s mouth, “I just want to tell you that this is as fucking terrifying to me as it surely is to you.” The man gulps, retracting the hand he still has pointing towards Yixing, as if he just realizes it’s still up there, between them. “In fact, I probably have it worse than you do.”

Somehow, during the man’s short monologue, Yixing finds his voice again. “The—wait—who _are_ you?”

The man visibly startles at the question, before his eyes soften, understanding washing over his old wrinkles and features. Yixing remains just as confused, if not more now, as he watches the man sit back in his chair, a soft laughter shaking his shoulders. “Right, surely you don’t remember me, huh? Not yet, anyway.”

“Sir—I’m sorry, but—could you please answer my question?”

A snort answers him first. “You should be _freaking out_ , Xing. Yet you’re still being all polite with your ‘ _please’s_ ’ and ‘ _thank you’s_ ’ like any of this isn’t fucking madness. Haven’t changed one bit, have you?”

Only then does it strike Yixing that the old man is speaking outrageously like a youngster, as if having this conversation with him had aged him back a few years or twenty. It’s all there, in the familiar way he addresses Yixing, the ease with which he speaks, the trust and affection that drips from his words—as though he knows Yixing, or maybe another version of him, or something.

“I’m Lu Han, by the way,” the man finally reveals, eyes curious still set on Yixing—have they ever left him, even? “But that won’t help you remember, I don’t think.”

 _Lu Han_. Of course, yes, Lu Han, Yixing knows that name… except he doesn’t, has never heard it before, has never met anyone with that name before.

He brings a hand to his face (when did he start shaking?), rubbing it across his eyes and down his cheek to rest at his neck, fingers scratching nervously at his nape. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about, or how you know about Baekhyun, or even how you know my name, really; I don’t know how _you_ know anything—”

“You look the same, you know,” Lu Han cuts again. Yixing removes his hand, letting his eyes focus back on the man, who now has his own eyes closed, a serene smile playing across his lips. He knows that face, but how is that even possible? “You look the exact same… pretty face and cute dimple and all of that stuff that made girls crazy for you.” Another snort, and Yixing jumps once more at the man’s oddly contrasting youthful mannerisms. “But of course you didn’t get married. You didn’t mention it, not even once, but I think we both knew it was because of Baekhyunnie, wasn’t it?”

Yixing’s heart stops, doubles in speed. He isn’t sure if it’s because of the mention of Baekhyun’s name, or the fact that this Lu Han guy used such a strikingly familiar nickname.

What does Baekhyun have to do with any of this? No, wait, actually—what is Yixing _still_ doing here?

He can’t leave, though. He simply cannot leave just yet—it’s as though Yixing’s mind and body and everything else fights against him to keep him in this store and this discussion he cannot make sense of.

Maybe it’s caused by a strengthening curiosity, a desire to learn more about this… odd encounter, that makes absolutely no sense. Maybe it’s in the hopes of finding sense to it, somehow.

“I’m asking questions,” Lu Han sighs, eyes still closed, leaning back in his chair, “I know damn well you can’t answer. I don’t know why I’m even trying.” Yixing watches as he stands up again, leaning against the counter, eyes now open and sharp, curious. “Answer this one, though. Should be simple enough. When were you born, kid?”

“October 7th, 1991,” Yixing replies by instinct, until he realizes what he’s done. _Shit_.

He slaps a hand over his mouth once the words make it out of his lips though, scolding himself internally for being so atrociously reckless. What is he _thinking_?

The reaction he gets from Lu Han, however, is even more odd. It’s like his face falls for a moment, sadness filling in the ridges left by his wrinkles, before he catches himself and plasters a half smile on his face. There’s still a sad, bittersweet edge to it. “Makes sense, then. Since you… I mean, he… Ah, forget it. You’re probably scarred enough as it is.”

Scarred? Yixing isn’t sure if he’s scarred, really, by anything. Confused, definitely. Scared, maybe a little. Worried for Lu Han’s mental health, not exactly, but then again, he might as well wonder about his own mental health, in this situation, for even considering the truth behind Lu Han’s words.

Yixing watches, immobile, as Lu Han steps away from the counter, walking slowly to the door at the end of the room leading to the back.

“I—um—I want to buy snacks, sir!”

When the words leave his mouth, Yixing refrains from hitting his head with his palm in frustration.

He doesn’t know what’s going on. He doesn’t understand what his mind is even thinking, asking all the wrong questions and somehow obtaining less and less answers.

Lu Han, however, only seems amused at Yixing’s remark. He turns on his heel, a smirk playing on his lips. “It’s on the house, kid. Just grab whatever you need and go. God knows it’s the least I can do.”

And with that, the old man is gone, and Yixing is left alone in the store with his thoughts and too many questions to count.

***

“None of what you’ve just told me makes sense, hyung.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Yixing groans into the phone. “It didn’t make sense at all. I still don’t know why I kept talking to the guy.” He pauses, making himself a little more comfortable against his pillows. “Maybe this is it. Maybe I’ve finally gone crazy.”

Beijing’s late night lights filter through the windows of his hotel room, curtains left wide open. Like that, Yixing can see very little of his room—only vague shapes in the darkness, sometimes illuminated by the neon and street lights pouring in from outside. The nightscape view would steal his attention, really, if he wasn’t so preoccupied.

After a short trek to the hotel room Yixing barely remembers, he called Baekhyun right away, asking him about his day and shenanigans as he ate dinner before launching into the story of his encounter with Lu Han as he got ready for bed.

It feels weird, still, calling the old man by his name. Like Yixing is talking, thinking about someone else; someone close.

His phone lies next to him on the bed, earbuds plugged in so he doesn’t have to tuck it against his ear. He’s fiddling absentmindedly with their cables, fingers getting stuck in loops until one pinches slightly at his skin. Yixing frowns, bringing his index finger to his mouth.

“If you’re crazy, hyung, then I’m crazy for believing you, aren’t I?” Baekhyun says. If Yixing closes his eyes, he can imagine him most likely in bed, too, on top of his covers, naked legs bent at the knees and distracted hands drawing invisible patterns in the air. Through the earbuds, Baekhyun sounds much closer, somehow. “I mean, if that man really did know my name, _and_ yours, and… shit, I don’t know. Makes you think.”

Yixing’s mouth makes a _pop!_ sound when he removes his finger from his sucking lips. “What if he’s, like, from the future or something?” The thought doesn’t make any sense at all, rationally, but it’s late enough at night that it sounds plausible enough to voice out loud. “What if I met him in the future and he’s back to warn me about some stuff?”

“Hyung,” Baekhyun’s stern voice wonders, “how many times have you watched _Back To The Future_?”

Yixing scoffs, shuffles under his covers. “Well _you_ certainly haven’t watched it enough. It’s a classic. Time travelling is awesome.”

“Time travelling is also impossible, Yixing-hyung,” retorts Baekhyun’s derisive voice. Somehow, it only makes Yixing smile more than anything.

“Okay, sure, but think about it,” Yixing presses. Through the teasing and the easy atmosphere surrounding him, there’s some kind of vague idea forming in his head, suddenly, and he gets the strange urge to share it with Baekhyun right away. “It’s like he knew me, right? Or knows about me, anyway. About _you_ , too. So if he’s not from my future… maybe we met in the past.”

It’s what makes most sense, right? For someone to know so much, yet for Yixing to have no recollection of it… Unless his memory is failing him—which he highly doubts it is—those impossible theories are the closest thing to a truth he can fathom.

Lu Han’s words suddenly ring again in his head.

_Right, surely you don’t remember me, huh? Not yet, anyway._

Maybe Yixing’s memory isn’t as good as he thinks. He’s not really sure anymore.

For a moment, Yixing thinks he’s lost Baekhyun—either with the nonsense he’s seemingly spurting, or simply due to the late hours passing by them and pulling them into slumber. The silence that welcomes his words is uncertain, vague.

But then Baekhyun speaks again, his soft yet teasing voice sounding much louder in Yixing’s sleepy head, and Yixing calms down, a little. “I don’t about you, hyung, but I’ve only been alive for twenty-four years. I’m not a vampire.”

It’s not funny, but Yixing giggles, because he can’t help it. The knot in his stomach he didn’t know was there eases.

“Not like that, silly. But maybe…” He pauses, not sure where his own thoughts are heading. They’re going somewhere, though, and Yixing is just as curious as to where they’re taking him. “Maybe it’s like… past lives and stuff? Like, I don’t know. Maybe another me was alive back in the, what, seventies? And this man mistook me for past me who used to be his friend, or something.”

Past lives? That might make sense. Yixing isn’t sure how he thought of that, though. And it’s…

Baekhyun’s low hum is contemplative. “Mmh. Sounds familiar, actually.”

And there it is again—that odd, striking sense of having had this discussion before, albeit a little differently; it hits Yixing suddenly and it makes him say, “It—it does, yeah. You get that, too?”

“Get what?”

“Weird déjà vu moments like that. When we’re…” _When we’re together_. “I don’t know; I’m just thinking out loud.”

A pause. Silence stretches. Yixing waits.

“Hyung?”

“Mmh?”

Baekhyun sighs at the end of the line, as though it helps him sort his thoughts. Yixing imagines him stretching on his sheets, twisting so that he lies on his side, phone tucked between his ear and the pillow. The thought sits warmly in his chest. “What I’m gonna say is gonna be, like, crazy. Probably. But just listen, okay?”

“I always listen, Baekhyun-ah.”

“Not the time to be a sap, hyung.”

Yixing stifles a laugh. Not the time, Baekhyun said. “Okay, go ahead. I’ll shut up.”

Silence settles once more, but this time, it’s patient. Yixing waits for Baekhyun to speak, watching as the air gets darker through the window and the painted echo of the lights gets just that tad bit stronger against the walls of his hotel room. He should get some sleep, probably; travelling takes a lot energy out of him and he needs all the rest he can get.

The thoughts vanish when Baekhyun speaks again. “Sometimes,” he starts, timidly, before he goes again, more confidently—as though he was making himself sound sure of what he’s saying, as though maybe they’re not as clear in his head as he wants them to sound. “Sometimes, I feel like I’ve known you forever. Like, _forever_. Or at least, a very, very long time. And…”

And, Yixing’s heart is beating faster, and he’s getting all sorts of thoughts, even though it’s probably not what Baekhyun means—and he _knows_ that, he knows because that’s how he feels, too; behind the sugary sweet feelings and the never uttered confessions lies a strong sense of having known Baekhyun for dozens of years, centuries, even.

But he can’t help it, can’t help the feelings, can’t help feeling slightly lightheaded at Baekhyun’s words, even as he continues to speak.

“And it makes me think, hyung… what if we’re like, soulmates, or something? Not the romantic type, or anything—well I mean—okay no, I _don’t_ wanna do this over the phone but—I mean not that I _have_ anything to say although—”

 _Soulmates_.

Yixing’s heart is about to pierce his lungs and maybe explode in his chest—yet, he forces his voice to sound as calm and composed as possible, for Baekhyun’s sake, at least.

“Baekhyun,” he soothes, and he can almost hear Baekhyun exhale, forcing himself to calm down. “I get it.”

“Yeah,” chuckles Baekhyun, a little nervously. It’s cute. “So, yeah. It’s dumb, isn’t it? You probably find me a little weird for thinking that especially as we only met in first year and we’re not all that old or anything and it’s, like, all sorts of ridiculous probably—”

“I said,” Yixing cuts again, patient, “I get it. Really. I feel the same, too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Suddenly, it becomes a little too evident that this conversation might be about more than just Yixing’s odd encounter in some lost small store of Beijing, more than just about a strange man that knows too much for it to make any sense.

Suddenly, it becomes a little too clear that this conversation holds more meaning, more _feeling_ to it than either of them are ready to admit.

Suddenly, it becomes a little weird to speak about that—and all it might entail, truly—over the phone, with miles separating them, when they’ll be reunited in a little less than twenty hours.

“Soulmates, huh?” Yixing repeats, aiming for nonchalant. He doesn’t know how it ends up sounding like, though. “I don’t dislike that idea.” He really doesn’t.

“And I think we both know it’s time for us to sleep,” Baekhyun says, all the way from Shanghai. Yixing wonders what kind of patterns Shanghai’s city lights are drawing across Baekhyun’s face. “Long day tomorrow, right?”

Yixing hums, settling further under his covers, already feeling sleep taking over. “I get to see you, tomorrow.”

When Baekhyun laughs, the sound is soft, dragged out, and Yixing notes that sleep is the cause. “Missed me, hyung?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t, either,” Yixing retorts rather than answering the question. They both know the answer anyway.

“I won’t say anything to that,” Baekhyun says around a yawn. “Yeah, it’s bed time for me.”

“Bed time it is,” says Yixing. “Don’t be late tomorrow.” They both know Baekhyun will probably be an hour early at the airport, dragging Zitao in tow just to make sure they don’t miss Yixing at the gate.

“I would never, hyung.” A sweet hum. Yixing almost falls asleep to it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Yixing.”

“Goodnight, Baekhyunnie.”

After they hang up, in the silence of the night, their unspoken words ring louder than they should.

***

Beijing was nice, even for only three days—but Shanghai is the closest thing to home he has now, and so Yixing doesn’t feel too bad about leaving the capital behind.

Especially not now, with Baekhyun’s hand sitting securely on his knee.

Zitao is driving, eyes straight ahead behind his sunglasses, nodding his head along to the radio. From the backseat, Yixing can only see his friend’s profile, the way his glasses sit snugly on his nose, the way his earring glimmers under the evening glow.

His attention, however, is mostly directed towards Baekhyun, sitting next to him in the small SUV that’s taking them to their place. They share a three-bedroom apartment, the three of them—along with Sehun and Jongin, Baekhyun’s friends from back home, who are studying Mathematics and Dance respectively. Jongin is on an exchange program, but Sehun has been with Baekhyun since their first year, and Yixing and Zitao moved in with them on their second.

“Jongin says he can’t wait to see you,” Baekhyun mumbles next to him, eyes on his phone. They’re framed by golden-rimmed glasses, giving him a mature look that suits him well. His hair is ash brown now; it was bleached blonde when Yixing left. “He keeps texting me about it.”

“Jonginnie?” Yixing inquires. He likes Jongin. “Missed the kid, too.”

“Yeah, well, _he’s_ not there to pick you up,” Baekhyun pouts, latching onto Yixing’s arm to steal his attention. It’s impossible to fight the smile that pushes against his lips. It’s never possible, with Baekhyun. “Whereas I _am_ here, so. I’m obviously the better friend.”

“Are you guys flirting back there?” Zitao groans. Yixing sometimes forgets his friend doesn’t understand Korean; the only reason he does is because he took it extensively in IB in high school. “Please don’t do anything stupid when I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Yixing was about to propose to me, actually,” Baekhyun replies in his accented Mandarin. It flows well nonetheless, though; it’s something Yixing loves about it. “He was wondering whether I’d like a flower-themed wedding or something more pop culture-influenced. I was about to say I was up for anything as long as it’s by his side, you know, but you just ruined the moment.”

“I shouldn’t have fucking asked,” Zitao grumbles to himself, yet just loud enough for both Baekhyun and Yixing to hear. It makes Baekhyun laugh, and Yixing follows, albeit more subtly.

He wonders, fleetingly, if that’s a thought that actually crossed Baekhyun’s mind. A flower-themed wedding? Yixing could do with that. The petals would look good against Baekhyun’s creamy skin and the soft texture of his hair. He’s not sure about anything else, really, especially when Baekhyun is involved—if he’s given the reins, the chances of them ending up with an Avengers-themed wedding ceremony would be—

 _Wait. No_.

The thoughts stop short, images of pale matching suits and delicate peonies and lilies vanishing in an instant.

Yixing is _not_ getting married anytime soon—let alone with _Baekhyun_ , of all people, who flirts dangerously with each and every being that crosses his path. He’s never even confessed his feelings to his best friend, and it’s not like…

The conversation from the night before suddenly haunts him. _Soulmates_.

The sudden memory makes him shiver, and he shakes it off in a way he hopes Baekhyun doesn’t notice.

But of course, he does.

“Hyung, you alright?” asks Baekhyun, softly, after a seeming lull in their conversation. They’re entering their neighborhood; Yixing recognizes the laundromat they frequent through the moving windows of the car. Some of the buildings are reflecting themselves against Baekhyun’s glasses.

“Oh, yeah, I’m alright,” Yixing quips. He forces a smile, watches Baekhyun as he speaks. It helps. He’s alright. “You know, you’d look good, at a flower-themed wedding. Pastel colours, and all.”

He’s obviously not alright.

Baekhyun frowns slightly at Yixing’s words, but not without an amused smile. His hand squeezes around Yixing’s knee, and Yixing holds onto that, and not onto the fact that he’s probably just said the most stupid thing in his life, just now. “You think so? I never really thought of pastel colours as flattering for me, though.”

“But they are,” Yixing insists, and he should stop, really, but. He doesn’t. “They look stunning on you. Soft, you know. It’s…” He clears his throat, searches for something across Baekhyun’s face he cannot seem to find. “It’s pretty.”

There’s still a tiny amused spark in Baekhyun’s eyes, but there’s also baby pink tones dusting his cheeks, his smile is turning shy. “Well,” he says, voice immeasurably softer now, “I’ll keep that in mind, darling.”

 _Darling_. He knows Baekhyun is teasing—he’s too good at it, really—but Yixing’s breath stutters, and he swallows air so that it doesn’t show.

He reaches for Baekhyun’s head and ruffles his hair, and his heart is somewhat relieved when Baekhyun scrunches his face, a small shriek escaping his throat as he tries to escape Yixing’s hand.

It’s nearing evening when they park in front of their apartment building. Sehun comes down to open the front door—their doorbell is broken, has been for about two months, but none of them thought of replacing it—and greets Yixing with a one-armed hug, before engaging him in a conversation on his seminar.

“Why did you decide to study something boring like math if you like music that much?” Zitao later asks in the elevator.

“You know there’s, like, tons of ways to relate math to music, right?” Sehun starts. Baekhyun groans, and Yixing laughs. “I mean, just from a structural point of view—”

“ _We don’t care!_ ” Baekhyun yells in the too small space, and Yixing jabs at his sides to make him stop. They’re standing unbelievably close; but then again, it’s not like there’s much space for them not to be, in a cramped elevator cabin like theirs.

“What Baekhyun means to say is, maybe we should wait until we’re all home to talk about the mathematics behind music, yeah?” Yixing offers, stepping out when the doors open.

“And what Yixing-ge means, truly, is that Baekhyun is right, but he’s too polite to agree,” Zitao snickers behind him. Yixing thinks he can hear him high-five Baekhyun, too.

“I don’t believe that,” Sehun says. His voice sounds closer than Yixing had first thought him to be, but he doesn’t jump when he feels a steady hand on his shoulder. “I can always count on you, hyung,” Sehun adds, in Korean.

“Hey, did you just curse me or something?” Zitao asks behind them, offended.

Yixing rolls his eyes. He’s surrounded by children, it seems.

He doesn’t even need to open the door when he reaches for it—Jongin is on the other side, his kind and goofy smile on his face, hair still damp from a shower. “Hyung,” he says, breathless. His smile widens a tad bit, hand going back to his hair, towelling it dry. “Welcome back.”

“Jonginnie,” Yixing greets. He ruffles the younger’s hair, stepping inside and toeing off his shoes. Jongin is a bit like a giant puppy. Yixing likes him. “I was only gone for three days. I don’t know what’s the deal with all of you.”

“You’re the oldest around here, Yixing-hyung,” Sehun explains. He’s already heading off to the living room, picking up some sketches and papers. Probably some homework. Yixing grimaces at the thought. “Not having you around is like, I don’t know. Chicks losing their mother hen.” He waves a hand around, papers moving with it. “Something like that.”

“I’m not a chick,” Jongin pouts, letting himself fall in the couch. The quick movement sends some papers flying, and Sehun scowls at him. Jongin smiles back.

“Neither am I,” Baekhyun agrees. He’s still hovering around Yixing, but it’s not like Yixing minds. He loves having Baekhyun’s attention, especially when it’s such a precious thing to earn. “And Yixing is definitely _not_ my mother.”

Zitao snorts a little too loud. Yixing only shakes his head once more, taking his bags off his shoulders and heading to his and Baekhyun’s room. “Anyway, I’m back now,” he says to the house, not anyone in particular. Maybe the walls are listening, too. “So stop making a fuss.”

When Yixing’s bags are back in his room, clothes put away for the most part, they all share dinner in the living room, letting Yixing tell them about what he’s learned and keeping him on the loop with what he’s missed. It’s not much, apparently—Sehun still hasn’t acted on his devastating crush on Bae Joohyun, Jongin is still killing himself over practicing for an upcoming performance, and Zitao is still working too many hours as an intern but he loves it despite the amount of complaining he makes.

Yixing doesn’t need updates on Baekhyun. They’re constantly talking, either way, and the five of them know that.

One by one, they retreat to their rooms, and it’s soon just Baekhyun and Yixing in the living room. There’s still two slices of pizza left in the box, and Yixing picks up the both of them, handing one to Baekhyun as he joins him back on the couch, legs under him as he sits.

“You know, I thought about what you said, last night,” Baekhyun says, nibbling on his food. His fingers come to remove the sauce from his lips, disappearing in his mouth. Yixing follows the motion with his eyes. “About, like, us being… I don’t know.”

“Soulmates?” Yixing provides. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one who brought _that_ up.”

The low hum of the television answers him first. Yixing thinks, distractedly, that he doesn’t need to wonder how Shanghai’s night lights would leave shadows on Baekhyun’s face anymore—he gets to remember it all, now, as the light filters through the thin windows of their shared living room, the yellow tint of the standing lamp at the corner of the room adding a certain warmth to it.

Baekhyun’s shrug is slightly timid. It’s not something Yixing sees often, but he’s known Baekhyun for long enough to have seen this more vulnerable side to him, and welcomes it patiently. He takes a bite of his food, reaching for a napkin when he’s done with his slice.

“Granted, yeah,” Baekhyun says after a moment. “Soulmates. Does that sound silly to you?”

Silly? Absolutely not. If anything, the thought is both frightening and overwhelmingly relieving to Yixing.

“I told you, Baekhyun,” he restates instead. “I feel the same, too.”

“You feel the same.”

“I do.”

“Right.” A pause. Baekhyun has given up on his pizza, moving to put it back in the box, wiping his fingers on a paper napkin. “Hyung, correct me if I’m wrong, but we’re not just talking about—”

“I like you, Baekhyun.”

The words come out of his mouth fast, breathless, certain.

Yixing only _thinks_ he’s said them, for a moment, before he looks up to see Baekhyun staring back, lips parted in shock, and realizes he _did_ say them out loud.

It’s as though his brain rushed them out, not thinking it through—or rather, it’s as though his brain rushed them out, as though that confession had been held back inside him for ages, threatening to come out at any moment, dangerously dangling from the tip of his tongue. Having them out is relieving.

Maybe Yixing should have stopped them, though. Putting his feelings out there in the open isn’t wrong, but it isn’t wise, either—acceptance, after all, isn’t always earned. Although he doesn’t think Baekhyun falls in that category, it’s the risk of other people finding out, taking it the wrong way, that might be holding him back.

There’s always fear, along with an overwhelming sense of relief.

But right now, there’s Baekhyun, only Baekhyun.

Baekhyun, who’s moving slowly, on the couch, closer and closer and only stopping once his right side is almost completely against Yixing’s left, eyes not once leaving him. They’re full of wonder, of adoration, and for once, Yixing doesn’t try to convince himself otherwise, but he can’t help it when he looks away.

He already misses the brightness of Baekhyun’s eyes as soon as he does, though.

“You like me, hyung?” Baekhyun asks, voice visibly aiming for teasing but sounding so, so happy, lilting at the end of his sentence. “Since when?”

“I don’t know,” Yixing feigns to consider. Against the walls, the city lights are gray, blue, green. “Maybe since that one time we went to the beach, the two of us, and you dragged me into building a sand castle that ended up getting destroyed by the waves no matter how hard we tried to make it stand.”

Baekhyun had laughed the loudest, brighter than the July sun above them.

Yixing continues. “Or maybe it was before that… when you played one of my compositions on the piano, when you thought I wasn’t looking, and then I had to fake being surprised when you gave me the recording as a present for my birthday.” The memories are coming to him without stopping, and some of them are getting mixed up with distant ones he cannot figure out. “But I think… I think I’ve always liked you, Baekhyunnie. I can’t really tell you since when.”

 _Liked you_ probably doesn’t cut it, either, but now is not the time.

“Yixing-hyung,” Baekhyun breathes out. It makes the hair at his nape tickle his skin.

When Baekhyun doesn’t say anything further, Yixing turns to look at him again, and stops breathing altogether.

Baekhyun doesn’t look much different, really—the bow of his lips is the same, soft yet pronounced. His eyes are still just as bright, so bright, as they have always been, and the texture of his hair looks just as soft to the touch, albeit a little healthier, maybe, than they did a few days prior.

However, there’s something painted all across Baekhyun’s features, widening his eyes a bit, swallowing them in wonder. He’s positively glowing with something Yixing cannot put words to—but it’s something he knows is most likely mirrored on his own face, and it’s no surprise, really, when they both lean in, connecting their mouths halfway.

It feels a bit like a first kiss, in more ways than one.

It sends sparks shooting down Yixing’s limbs. It pulls at his insides, makes him reach for Baekhyun in an almost desperate fashion, gripping at his sides and pulling him to sit on his lap. Baekhyun’s lips brush, press, suck at his own relentlessly, his voice catching in whimpers, his mouth constantly sighing against Yixing’s.

And Yixing gives back fervently, kissing with everything he has. His tongue teases at Baekhyun’s lips, before the latter opens up to him, giving, earnest. Yixing licks at the roof of his mouth, behind his teeth, pulling back before Baekhyun chases for him again, deft fingers buried in Yixing’s hair, scratching at his skin.

This kiss, their kiss, Baekhyun’s kiss—it feels like nothing Yixing’s ever had before, new and refreshing and so atrociously familiar it’s almost petrifying.

There’s a chaos of thoughts raging in his mind at the moment, his heartbeat quickening rapidly, but he pays no mind to it—he’s too busy rediscovering Baekhyun, all over again, under his palms and with his mouth. He slides his hands down Baekhyun’s sides, settling at his hips, pulling him closer. Baekhyun moans, low in his throat, and Yixing almost sobs at the sound, fingers digging in clothed flesh.

They detach their lips at some point, breaths loud in their too-close shared space. Baekhyun’s are red and slick, and Yixing doesn’t stop himself from reaching for his bottom lip, nibbling and sucking, earning another whine from the younger.

“Why did we wait so long to do this?” is what Baekhyun asks, before latching his mouth against Yixing’s neck, who throws his head back to allow for better access.

Baekhyun’s mouth against his skin is all sorts of wonderful, setting fire to every inch of flesh he comes across. “I don’t know,” he manages to reply, and there’s a chuckle that escapes him. “But we don’t want to waste any more time, yeah?”

“We don’t,” Baekhyun says, smiles against the juncture of Yixing’s neck and jaw, right behind his ear.

When they reconnect their lips, their kiss is slower, less frantic. Yixing lets Baekhyun lead, languid presses of their mouths pulling praising whines from him, his hands still pulling Baekhyun closer. He feels light, dizzy with it, wanting nothing more than to take what Baekhyun is giving him, again and again.

Hands slide from his hair down to the sides of his neck, and Yixing shivers violently. Baekhyun smiles into the kiss. “Love that.”

“What, my sensitive neck?” Yixing turns his head, kisses along Baekhyun’s jaw.

Baekhyun hums lowly, hands now resting at Yixing’s shoulders. “Yes, that. I bet you—”

“I fucking _knew_ it.”

They both jump at the voice, heads snapping to the open hallway. Zitao stands there, glass of water in hand, blonde hair mussed with sleep.

What a pair they must make, Yixing thinks. One look at Baekhyun’s own messed up hair, rosy cheeks, and bitted-red lips is enough to tell him what he must look like himself. Baekhyun isn’t moving from his lap, either, frozen in place. Yixing still has his hands clasped around Baekhyun’s hips.

Zitao, however, barely budges. He’s already walking back to his single room, unfazed. “I won’t tell anyone. Use protection,” he throws behind his shoulder, voice half-asleep, before disappearing in his room.

The interruption acts a bit like a needle popping their bubble—as though the world they had been immersed in for the past minute had now vanished, throwing them back into a bleak reality.

Yixing already misses the warmth of Baekhyun’s lips against his own.

“So.” Baekhyun, for all his constant blabbering, doesn’t say anything more.

Yixing is in no better state of mind. “So.”

It takes a moment, but when Baekhyun smiles, Yixing is suddenly drenched in relief, smiling back softly.

Baekhyun turns to him, making himself comfortable on Yixing’s lap. His thighs are thick and strong around his legs, and Yixing’s hands find themselves settling atop them almost on their own, like they belong there. “Let’s do that again?”

Yixing laughs, Baekhyun’s question easing the sudden awkwardness that had settled between them. “Yes, definitely, let’s.”

He’s already leaning in, but Baekhyun presses his index finger against his lips, keeping him desperately close yet still too far. “Wait, I have something to say.”

Yixing raises his eyebrows, pressing him to continue. It’s not like Yixing wants, _needs_ to kiss him again, not at all—definitely not like he’s desperate for it, almost, and Baekhyun is making a show of having _something to say_.

“I like you, too,” Baekhyun then says, and Yixing melts, desperation forgotten. “If that wasn’t obvious, after we’ve, um. You know.”

“After we’ve made out just now?” Yixing laughs again. “What are you, Baekhyun, a teenager?”

That earns him a fist against his shoulder and a roll of eyes. “I’m not a teenager,” mumbles Baekhyun with a pout, but it’s half-hearted, smile threatening to split his face in two. “It’s just… you’re different. We’re… we’re different.”

Yixing knows. “Soulmates, huh?” He raises both his eyebrows, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, _hyung_ ,” Baekhyun whines, and it only makes Yixing laugh even more, hugging Baekhyun around the waist and burying his face in his chest. Baekhyun is warm against him, and the gesture sends warmth pooling at his stomach.

“I like that,” Yixing says against the cotton of Baekhyun’s t-shirt. “Us, being soulmates.”

“Isn’t that scary, though?” Baekhyun asks. His voice sends waves echoing down his chest, vibrating against Yixing.

He ponders the thought, but it’s difficult, when Baekhyun is right there for him to take, to please, to appreciate.

To love.

“Maybe,” Yixing admits. “But I like it still, even if it’s scary.”

“Okay, good,” Baekhyun settles. A hand makes it back into Yixing’s hair, soothing, threading through curling locks. “I like that, too.”

***

The next day, it’s a much more awake—and smug—Zitao that welcomes Yixing in their shared kitchen.

“How was your night?” Too smug.

Yixing pours himself his customary morning coffee cup—dark, no sugar—and another that he leaves on the counter—half milk, two spoons of sugar—before rummaging through the fridge, looking for something to grab for breakfast.

His eyes are barely open for this early in the morning. Zitao’s implied overtones are too much for this time of the day.

Maybe he should just make ramen. He’s pretty sure Jongin has a few packs still stacked in his room.

“My night was just fine,” Yixing mumbles. His coffee tastes bitter and slides warm in his throat. Perfect. “Slept like a baby.”

He did, is the thing. He and Baekhyun did spend a little more time kissing, the night before—Yixing’s lips are still numb with it—but they had soon stumbled into (the same) bed, falling asleep in each other’s arms. It was almost painful to extract himself from Baekhyun’s koala-like embrace this morning.

Point is, he’s gotten plenty of sleep, and kisses, but mostly sleep—and absolutely none of what Zitao is most likely referring to.

Not that Yixing didn’t… anyway.

“Mmh,” is the only reply he gets from Zitao, however. Good. “Too soon, huh?”

Yixing groans. “I’m not _nearly_ awake enough for this.”

“Awake enough for what?” Sehun asks, too chipper this early in the morning. _God_.

To his credit, Zitao stays put, only smiling around his own tea mug. He downs what’s left of it in one go, picking up his messenger bag from the floor and making a byline for the front hall. “You’ll find out soon enough, Sehunnie.”

That makes Sehun narrow his eyes. Yixing isn’t sure if it’s directed to Zitao or to him.

The younger isn’t left wondering for long, however—Baekhyun’s grumpy morning self enters the kitchen, plumping in the chair next to Yixing’s at the small table, head falling on his shoulder. His eyes are scrunched shut from sleep, hair sticking in every direction. “Mmh.”

“Morning to you too,” Yixing says. He doesn’t want to smile. He does nonetheless.

Baekhyun’s cheek rubs against the cotton of his t-shirt. “Coffee?”

“On the counter,” Yixing murmurs, before a yawn escapes his mouth. He takes a sip of his own coffee, aware of Sehun’s eyes on them but choosing not to point it out. He’s tired. Mornings are awful.

When Baekhyun smiles, Yixing feels it. What he doesn’t expect, however, is the quick press of Baekhyun’s lips on his cheek, where his dimple usually sits, the touch gone as soon as he realizes what’s happening. “Thanks, babe.”

That doesn’t escape Sehun’s hawk-like observation, either. “Uh.”

Yixing turns to stare at him. At his expectant, shocked expression, he shrugs, going back to his coffee.

In normal circumstances, he would react more strongly, maybe; he did feel a jolt of something in his stomach at the press of Baekhyun’s lips against his cheeks, and it still hasn’t really left, even moments later now that Baekhyun has gotten up to fetch his coffee mug. However, there is no panic lurking in his gut, no need to explain or find a pretext to anything that has just occurred—it’s as though Sleepy Yixing has made the decision for future More Awake Yixing that he should let this be, let this happen, take it easy.

It’s not a secret to be kept, is it?

It’s only when Baekhyun comes back to sit next to Yixing, lapping at his coffee with tiny sips, that Sehun moves from the kitchen doorway, still fixing the pair of them with narrowed, expectant eyes.

“Did something happen back in Beijing that I should know about?” he asks, taking out a kimbap roll from the fridge.

Maybe Yixing should eat kimbap for breakfast, too. “Not in Beijing,” he chooses to say.

Next to him, Baekhyun nods. He feels it in the way the air shifts at the movement, in the added warmth it creates when Baekhyun seemingly leans towards him. “Sehunnie, do you believe in soulmates?”

Sehun chokes on his bite, coughing rice. “Jesus. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours, Baekhyun-hyung.”

But Baekhyun only smiles at him, threading a distracted hair in Yixing’s hair. Yixing shivers but leans in nonetheless. The scratch of Baekhyun’s fingers against his scalp is grounding, helps with his morning drowsiness.

In the back of his mind, he’s thankful for Sehun’s easiness. He didn’t expect anything less from the younger, but… it feels nice. Safe.

Later, when they’re all showered and about to leave, Jongin is staring at them from the kitchen, where he’s grabbing late breakfast for himself. Baekhyun happens to be draped over Yixing’s back, arms around his neck and his nose in his hair.

Yixing thinks Baekhyun really has something for his hair. Maybe it’s his shampoo. Maybe he should share the bottle with him.

Maybe he should share a shower with Baekhyun. That’s not a bad idea.

Jongin looks more like a puppy than usual, in the morning. His pouty lips become extra pouty, cheeks round with sleep and eyes squinting when he’s not wearing his contact lenses. It’s the case now, as he stares from his seat at the counter, head leaning forward in Yixing and Baehkyun’s direction. “Did you guys fuck?”

Yixing chokes on his own spit, while Baekhyun just laugh on his back. “Not yet, Jongin-ah,” he replies easily. Yixing can feel his skin flush, but he doesn’t say anything.

Who is he to say anything to that, anyway? He certainly isn’t against the idea.

Jongin scrunches up his nose in disgust, turning back to his food. Ramen, Yixing notes. Damn it. “Anyway. About damn time.”

And now that Yixing is a little more awake, he wants to say something to that—was it really obvious to everyone but each other, that they had this strange, overwhelming attraction for the other, added to the fact that they also shared this amazing complicity? He thinks back to Zitao, the night before, surprising them more than they had surprised him, even with their bodies in each other’s space and lips slick with each other’s spit, or this morning, with Sehun and now Jongin just as indifferent—if only a little taken aback, at first.

Before he can decide whether to speak up or not, he feels Baekhyun slide off his back, running to the kitchen. “Why, are we jealous, Jonginnie?” He grabs the younger’s face, plants a loud kiss on his forehead.

Jongin sputters, turns bright red, pushes Baekhyun away forcefully. Baekhyun’s loud cackle rings bright in Yixing’s ears. “ _God_ , hyung, you can be so annoying.”

“But Xing-hyung likes me anyway,” Baekhyun singsongs, now latching onto Yixing’s arm.

Yixing tries to look bothered, really, he does—except he cannot, really, when Baekhyun is warm and buzzing with the same happiness he knows is mirrored in his own eyes, and he’s so _beautiful_ like that. Knowing he’s even just a parcel of the reason why is enough to make him melt into a puddle of adoration for the man at his side. “Yeah, I do,” Yixing murmurs, too soft, too sincere for the moment, but Baekhyun only smiles back, dazzling as always.

Jongin, however, groans, and it makes the both of them laugh. “Like we didn’t know that.”

As it turns out, it seems, Baekhyun and Yixing are the least well-kept secret in their household, but that’s alright, Yixing decides.

***

Dating Baekhyun—because that Yixing is doing now, it looks like—isn’t that much different from just being best friends with Baekhyun.

It does help that they live together, and have been for the past two years or so. It also helps that they were already attached to the hip prior to… whatever it is that they did to make things change.

(Kiss, probably. Make out some more. But mostly, talk about soulmates at the encounter of a strange old man Yixing prefers not to dwell on, lately.)

And so they still do a lot of things just the way they used to—they’re still the pair who picks up the groceries on a weekly basis, strolling the aisles as they go back and forth about what they need to buy and what they think the others need, or what they think they should buy just because they want to and they think it might please the others, too. They still go everywhere together—mostly because they frequent the same school and happen to have coordinated schedules—and Baekhyun doesn’t move away from Yixing’s arm whenever they’re out strolling Shanghai’s streets, even if only their biceps are pressing against each other in tight crowds. They still spend their Tuesday and Thursday nights together, in the living room, Baekhyun at the piano and Yixing listening, sharing songs and talking about music and nothing and everything at once.

All of that remains, of course, but it’s as though there’s an added value to it all, too. Now, grocery shopping feels shockingly domestic and heartwarming, so much that it sometimes makes Yixing stop in his tracks just to stare as Baekhyun’s thin fingers skip above the various packages in their trolley, imagining an entire lifetime of just that—Baekhyun by his side, in the most simple yet familiar settings imaginable. Now, walks to and from campus are sometimes punctuated with handholding and mushy smiles, when they feel brave enough and there aren’t too many people looking—or no one that seems to care, anyway. Now, their Tuesday and Thursday nights sometimes deviate from Baekhyun’s extended practice time to focus on each other’s mouth instead, curious fingertips and eagerness also coming into play.

Yixing can’t help it, when Baekhyun is absolutely stunning, warm, welcoming; willing.

Getting to know this side of Baekhyun—the loving, soft, adorably enamored side of Baekhyun—is something Yixing still cannot believe he has the chance to do, although he makes sure to make the best out of it—through quick pecks on the cheek, compliments in passing, deeper kisses on late evenings, drawn out moans in the bedroom. Always, through it all, Yixing hopes to convey just as much of the love he carries, as scary as it sounds.

He also hopes, desperately—as he forces himself to commit to memory every single detail about Baekhyun’s low hum, or the tinkling sound of his giggle, or the spark that shines brighter in his eyes when they’re turned into crescents—he hopes never to lose those memories, to make many more in the future. He can’t afford to lose them, to forget.

It already feels like he’s forgotten so much, even when he hasn’t, not really.

***

Three weeks after Yixing’s trip to Beijing, he gets mail.

Baekhyun is the one who picks it up that day. “ _You’ve got mail_ ,” he intones in his best English, closing the door to the late December air behind him.

Yixing turns on his seat from the couch, looking at where his boyfriend stands in the entrance hall. “For me?”

“For you,” Baekhyun confirms. He toes off his shoes, puts the letter between his lips as he takes off his jacket. His bangs cover his eyes when he looks down; his hair is back to black, now. Yixing’s favourite.

When he picks up the letter again, he continues. “It’s not bills, either. In fact, there’s about little to nothing written on here. Just your name, our address, and a stamp.”

Yixing raises an eyebrow, puts away his laptop. “Uh. Weird. I’m not expecting anything.”

Baekhyun comes to sit next to him, plopping gingerly on the couch and looking up at Yixing with curious eyes, turning his body to face him. For a moment, they just stare at each other, and Yixing has a hard time fighting off the smile that gets to his lips.

It’s absolutely unnerving.

The glow in Baekhyun’s eyes softens, content, happy. “Hi, there.”

“Hi, there.” Yixing knows he must be dimpling, because Baekhyun’s eyes are zeroing on his cheek.

“No kiss for me?” Baekhyun tilts his head, his hands in his lap where the envelope sits.

Yixing scrunches his nose. “Come here.”

The peck is quick and sweet, but it still manages to leave Yixing breathless, the skin of his lips tingling with Baekhyun’s touch. For good measure, he reaches up and leaves a kiss on the tip of Baekhyun’s nose, who pushes him away with a short laugh.

This, Yixing thinks, is happiness.

“Where’s everyone?” Baekhyun asks.

“Sehun and Jongin still have class until eight, I think,” Yixing answers, stretching his arms above his head. “And Tao is staying over at his girlfriend’s place tonight.”

When Baekhyun wiggles his eyebrows with a low hum, Yixing rolls his eyes, jostling him with his shoulder. Baekhyun only starts laughing, but it’s not like it wasn’t Yixing’s intention, either.

“Anyway, so,” Baekhyun says when he calms down, narrowing his eyes at Yixing. He moves on the couch to sit next to him properly, thighs touching. Baekhyun is so warm next to him. “Are you gonna open it, then?” He waves the envelope in front of his eyes.

“Why wouldn’t I open it?”

Baekhyun shrugs. “Dunno. Here.” He hands him the letter, fingers still drumming against the paper. It’s like he can’t help himself but move, constantly, without stopping.

Yixing takes it from his hands, smoothing out the paper. The words are handwritten, calligraphy shaky but elegant, inked across the paper. He runs a finger over the three characters that make up his name—they seem darker than the rest, as though whoever wrote them had put careful attention on them, running over the lines more than once, maybe, or simply took their time tracing them.

_张艺兴_

“Zhang Yixing,” Baekhyun murmurs. He moves to put his chin on Yixing’s shoulder, looking over at his hands.

“Shall I open it?” Yixing asks, because suddenly, it feels different. He doesn’t know what the envelope contains—but he has a feeling it’s not just a random letter anymore, not just some weird mail that might fascinate them for a few minutes before they both forget about it once dinner’s ready.

But Baekhyun only shrugs, moving against Yixing’s body in a way that’s warm and wonderfully familiar. “Why not? Come on, hyung.”

Delicately, he rips the end of the envelope, extracts its contents with just as much care. There’s two slivers of paper—one, thinner, inked with a message. The other is made up of photo paper, aged with time and slightly yellow at the corners, folded in half. Yixing puts it down, going for the message first. He feels Baekhyun reach out for the photo, but pays little mind to it.

There’s no introduction to it—just a short paragraph, and a signature.

_Hopefully, I’m sending this to the right person. I figured there might not be too many Zhang Yixing’s living in Shanghai, right? I ran a research for Byun Baekhyun, too, just to be sure. Figured you’d live together… Anyway. I don’t know if I should be doing this, either, but I thought, might as well. The picture dates back to 1970, when we lived in the States. Looks familiar? Yeah, I know. Believe me, I know._

_Have a good one, kid. Come visit, sometime._

_Your brother (or granddad, at this point),_

— _Lu Han_

_P.S. If any of this means nothing to you, I beg you please return to…_

This name, again. This story, _again_ , that makes no sense, yet that is so close to Yixing that he cannot afford to ignore it.

“It’s from Lu Han,” Yixing starts. “Remember? The old man from Beijing, the one that—”

“Hyung.”

Baekhyun’s voice is muted, sounding much further away and much more serious than it had moments ago. It makes Yixing turn to him completely, searching him with his eyes—but Baekhyun is still looking down, hands gripping the strip of photo paper from the envelope, eyes not once leaving it. His fingers are denting the paper with their strong pressure, his eyebrows are furrowed, confusion and frustration lacing his gaze, and Yixing wants to ask.

But then, Baekhyun speaks again. “Hyung,” he says, his voice still strained. “Look at this.”

When Yixing looks down, his heart stops.

It’s a photo booth strip—four pictures, arranged in a column, the resolution a little outdated and tarnished with time.

Four pictures, and in each and every one of them, Baekhyun and Yixing are in the shot.

Except it _cannot be_ , because the pictures are obviously old, much older than the both of them—Lu Han had said they dated back to 1970. It cannot be, because as much as resemblances are possible between people across the world and through time, there isn’t a thing about the two people in the pictures that differ from the two sitting at this couch, right now, staring at them. And what are the chances of both Baekhyun and Yixing making it together into the _same_ pictures, taken over forty years ago, all the way across the globe?

Yixing’s dimple is there. Baekhyun’s moles, the one above his lip, against his temple, and the one at the edge of his nail on his thumb—they also made it into the shots. Their hair is overgrown; they’re both sporting haircuts that most likely were the trend back then but that definitely look old-fashioned and strange now, especially on such familiar faces— _their_ faces.

And their faces—they’re the same, the _exact_ same, albeit a bit younger. Yixing recognizes his teenage self in the pictures, despite their absolute incongruity—but most of all, he recognizes Baekhyun, the curve of his facial features despite them being rounder than he knows them to be, the bright challenge in his eyes, his adorable boxy smile. This young boy is just like the Baekhyun he’s always known—and it almost feels as though he’s known that boy as well, above it all.

“What the hell is this,” Baekhyun lets out. His tone is lost, undecipherable. “Hyung, that’s…”

“It can’t be us,” Yixing hears himself say. He’s not sure what makes it out of his mouth anymore. “That’s not—that’s not possible.”

“Right.” Baekhyun stays silent for about a second before he turns to Yixing, eyes wild, tone pressing. “No, hyung, that’s—it has to be us, what the _fuck!_ ”

Yixing brings his arm around Baekhyun’s shoulders, pulling him close. Baekhyun exhales against the skin of his neck, breathing deep, long inhales. They stay in silence like that, time standing still between them, the pictures still mocking them where they sit in Baekhyun’s hands. Yixing wonders if he’s not dreaming everything; he has half the heart to pinch his skin just to make sure of it.

He’s still looking at the pictures, at how close they seem to be even then—that is, if that’s _really_ them—basking in each other’s presence. “Soulmates, huh?”

A soft, exhaled laugh answers him. “Yeah, sure, except that’s downright weird and there’s, like, no way to explain it,” Baekhyun mumbles. “I didn’t know being soulmates was this scary.”

For some reason, that makes Yixing chuckle slightly in turn, and Baekhyun follows, even for just a moment. “So you think that’s them, then? Our past selves, or something?”

“I have no idea.” Baekhyun shivers under his arm. “It could be. It’s just… It’s one thing to hear about Lu Han, about how he knows you, and me, I guess. How we remind him of certain people. But it’s another thing to actually _see_ it.”

“I know.” What could have been Lu Han’s intention, by sending those mysterious pictures, Yixing fails to see it. As it stands, it only makes things complicated—especially while there was nothing complicated to begin with.

Or maybe there was—the déjà vu feelings and instances that don’t make sense might have something to do with it.

It’s as though Yixing and Baekhyun, or Baekhyun and Yixing, the unit they make—it’s as though there’s so much more to it now, as though there is something else added to that entity they are that they cannot pinpoint. It’s slightly terrifying, but also…

“What do you think of that, then?” Yixing asks, voice low. There’s just so much going on in his head, right now, but he needs to talk it out, needs Baekhyun to talk to him about it as well. “Of… this. Of us, I guess.”

“You mean past us, right?”

“Yeah,” Yixing laughs despite himself. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Baekhyun shifts, pulling Yixing’s arm down around his waist, brushing himself closer. “Maybe ask me in a few hours. Or a few days. Right now, I’m just…” It’s hard to leave Baekhyun speechless, but as his words are fading into silence, Yixing thinks this is one of the very few times he has seen it happen.

“Maybe we should visit him,” Yixing then offers. “Lu Han, I mean. He did say we should come by, in his letter.”

“Maybe,” Baekhyun mumbles. He settles further into Yixing, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Yixing suppresses the shiver that runs down his spine. “Ask me again tomorrow.”

“Will do.” Outside, the world is turning black. With the absence of lamps in the room, the only source of light comes from the windows, city street lights casting their faint glow into the room as the sun glides down in the sky.

“Hyung,” Baekhyun starts, “let’s have dinner.”

“Dinner sounds great,” Yixing replies. He knows it’s a distraction—but it’s welcomed, relieving. “We should make some tea, with that.”

“Tea sounds nice.” There’s a smile tucked against Yixing’s skin. “Carry me to the kitchen?”

Yixing jabs his fingers at Baekhyun’s side, who yelps and jumps away from his boyfriend. “You’ve got your own legs to carry you there, Baekhyunnie. Come and give me a hand instead?”

He gets up, turning to Baekhyun who’s now lying down on the couch, eyes full of glee, behind the thoughtful observation they’re directing towards Yixing. The latter extends his hand, expecting. When Baekhyun takes it, pulling himself up, Yixing notices how warm it is, how it fits perfectly in his, how there are sparks lighting up his skin at Baekhyun’s touch; not for the first time.

***

They don’t leave for Beijing for another month.

With January at their door, they’re both busy with approaching finals—Yixing has tons of composing and producing work to complete, while Baekhyun often stays longer in his practice room at school to perfect his performance. If he’s not at the Conservatory, he’s cooped up in the living room, going over his pieces again and again until he’s mastered them beyond perfection—or so Yixing thinks, anyway. He loves anything Baekhyun plays, and the way he does, too.

They’ve planned it all, though—first week of February, they’ll make their way to the capital, for a few days. Baekhyun had been particularly adamant and excited about it all—they hadn’t really talked about why they were going, mostly they both were aware of the reason, but they had paid special care into where they would stay, what else they would do. It felt like putting together a holiday of their own; something they had done before, of course, but not under those circumstances.

Not as boyfriends, as a couple. It’s new, it’s refreshing, enthralling, and a little scary, too.

Their roommates hadn’t thought much of it, either. Zitao had teased them senseless about it, though—“A couple’s holiday, huh? In Beijing? Sure you’re going for the pretty places or for something else?”—while Jongin and Sehun had cheered, revelling in having some “peace of mind for once, God.”

Baekhyun had yelled at them for it. Yixing had pulled his tongue at them, which then prompted Baekhyun to kiss him soundly, making their roommates groan (not without affection, though).

It’s a little over a week before their departure, now, and Yixing is just leaving the studios at the Conservatory when he gets a text.

_i would love you forever + extra if you got me takeout…………pretty please? ill kiss you :)))_

The timestamp reads 5:36 p.m., and it’s just a little past six now. Yixing wonders if Baekhyun is still waiting for him to reply.

_have you eaten yet? i can go buy something if you’re still hungry…..you should eat more often though >:(_

_i don’t mean the mean face. sorry. love you always!_

He gets a reply almost instantly, making him smile down at his phone.

_sheesh…. almost took you seriously there. revolting, truly._

_im still hungry though soooooo join me with food maybe? you know where to find meee~_

Yixing does know—he’s picked up Baekhyun right at the door of his practice room many times before, knows the way to and from there by heart and could probably walk it with his eyes closed.

He buttons up his coat, walking out in the dark January evening and through the streets. He catches the bus just in time, taking him a few blocks away, as he texts Baekhyun back.

_give me 15!!_

It takes him five minutes to reach the place he intends to grab food from—the campus is near the outskirts of the city, surrounded by many green spaces and wider, calmer roads that aren’t always found in the city’s main hub—and not so many restaurants, either. Baekhyun has his favourite place, though, not too far from where they study, and so it doesn’t take long for Yixing to place his order and get back.

Walking the campus grounds in the evening like this always gives it a different vibe—lights are lower, crafting different coloured tones and shadows across the various architectures of the Conservatory’s many buildings. With the cold January air making his breaths puff in tiny clouds out of his mouth, his body shivering slightly under his layers, it feels a little eerie, even, if it wasn’t for how much he’s grown to love this place.

When he makes it inside and through the halls, he finds the door to Baekhyun’s practice room slightly ajar, letting the melody seep out of the room. The piano’s sound is haunting, brisk, but delicate, ironically sweet, and easily recognizable. Yixing has heard it tons of times before—as he studied music theory, but also these past few weeks, during Baekhyun’s countless practice sessions at home, each time sounding better than before. This one is just as flawless, if not more, notes gliding seamlessly in the ear and tinkling in Yixing’s ears, almost dizzying in their unbelievably fast pace.

He steps in as silently as he can, trying not to make himself heard. It doesn’t matter, however—Baekhyun is entranced by his music, his body moving in waves as his hands move restlessly across the keys facing him. They never stop, not once, and they never mess up—and it shows, through the music they make, that Baekhyun pours in more than hours of technical practice into his art. There’s an emotion felt through the way he moves, through the press of his fingers against the piano, brought to life in a way only Baekhyun can. Through the ups and downs of the melody, the varying, dizzying intensity of Liszt’s composition, Baekhyun’s hands never once stop, falter—they only keep playing, consistently, amazingly.

Yixing feels almost light-headed, just watching Baekhyun play, but it’s also fascinating, stealing his attention completely. Baekhyun’s furrowed eyebrows, the vivid concentration behind his sharp eyes, the fluid grace of his limbs—they all stir something in Yixing’s core, propelling him to both reach out and touch as well as sit back and stare. He sticks to the latter, watching as Baekhyun finishes in flourish, his hands finalizing the piece on the keys with brio.

He lets a moment pass, and another. Baekhyun still hasn’t shown a sign of having heard him come in, eyes now closed, breathing slowly, deeply. His mouth is set in a line, but it’s not hard—it’s satisfied, serene, calm.

Yixing feels himself smile, before he raps his knuckles on the wall next to him. “May I?”

When Baekhyun turns to him, rapidly, his eyes are searching, before they settle on Yixing’s own gaze. “Oh, hey, you’re here. Didn’t hear you come in.”

“No you didn’t, but that’s fine,” Yixing offers. He walks in the room, sits on the chair adjacent to the grand piano that takes up most of the space. “La Campenella, huh? Your skills would put Liszt to shame, Baekhyun.”

“Don’t say that,” Baekhyun quickly admonishes. “I’m sure no one could have played it better than the man himself. I’m just trying my best.”

“And you’re amazing,” Yixing insists, because he _is_. “You make it sound so easy. As if most pianists don’t kill themselves trying to play that.” Yixing tried. He didn’t make it past twelve measures. “And you’re beautiful, when you play, too.”

Although he brushes off Yixing’s compliments, it shows that Baekhyun appreciates them, nonetheless—his cheeks are round and red, happy small smile pushing against them. When he looks back up, he’s got his bottom lip between his teeth, and Yixing fixes his eyes on that. “Well, I can’t argue with that, can I?” He flutters his eyelashes, and Yixing rolls his eyes at him. “So. You got me food?”

Oh, right. Yixing is here for food. Baekhyun’s very own delivery man. “Uh, yeah, here,” he says, brandishing the plastic bags in his hand towards Baekhyun, who’s still sitting at the bench.

Baekhyun takes the bags from him, peering at their contents. “Ooohh, are those soup buns?” he asks excitedly, eyes darting furtively above the bag to shoot Yixing a thankful smile. “From that place a couple blocks over?”

When Yixing nods, Baekhyun smiles further. “Sweet, thank you. Wanna eat those with me? I was planning on leaving soon, and I don’t think we have the right to eat in here, anyway.”

“So you made me deliver you food that you’re not even gonna eat here?”

“Exactly,” Baekhyun confirms, shaking his head in affirmation with glee. He looks quite a lot like a puppy—different from Jongin’s soft, easy-going Labrador type; more like a Corgi, maybe. “It was just an excuse for me to have you come fetch me. And to get food, obviously.”

“Like I don’t do that every day already,” Yixing mumbles. It’s half-hearted, though, and it probably shows.

“Fair point,” Baekhyun says, “but I thought we could… I don’t know. Get away, a bit. I feel like all we’ve done lately is study.”

Baekhyun is not wrong. With the semester ending less than a week away, they’ve both lost sight of a routine that doesn’t involve school, or practice, or work. “So what do you suggest?”

“Let’s eat those by the cafeteria downstairs,” suggests Baekhyun, “and then we could just walk around? It’s too cold for a picnic, but a little night trip should be fine, yeah?”

It’s simple, and horribly tempting. An evening with Baekhyun—only Baekhyun, no offense to Jongin, Sehun, and Zitao—that isn’t spent either at home, working, or at school, still working, sounds all sorts of wonderful right now. “Deal,” he replies easily.

They take their time eating, as Yixing watches Baekhyun moan around his mouthful of food—despite burning his tongue on his first bite, the younger keeps shoving too much of it in his mouth, but it seems as though he’s gotten used to it, by now.

“I could eat this all my life,” he says between two bites, struggling to swallow properly. Yixing hands him a napkin that he takes with a grateful smile.

“You don’t mean that,” is all Yixing says, and they finish their meal, teasing each other back and forth.

When they make it out of the campus grounds, moments later, Baekhyun drags them both to the nearby Xinjiangwancheng subway station. They manage to find seats, as they board from the terminus, but also due to the late evening hours slowly creeping in, keeping customers away from the transit. However, as they ride the Line 10 towards Shanghai’s downtown district, crowds start to form inside the cars, and by the time they get out at Xintiandi, they have to push against small groups of people blocking the doors.

“So where are you taking me?” Yixing asks, hand in Baekhyun’s own, being dragged through the underground system and out in the open evening air. They only let go of each other once they reach out the very top.

Around them, the city opens up, the cold not keeping tourists and locals alike from enjoying the night. Couples are especially present, milling around, walking, talking, taking pictures together. Yixing wonders, just for a second, if he’s brave enough to hold Baekhyun’s hand like all these people around him, with the same obvious intention.

It’s still a little scary.

Baekhyun brings him back with his warm voice, bringing heat to Yixing’s heart in the January weather that envelops them. “To be honest, I didn’t really think this through,” Baekhyun answers truthfully, with a sheepish smile. “I just wanted to come here for fun, I guess. No plans. An adventure, of sorts?

A promenade in the evening, just the two of them and the city as their only company. It sounds like something rather ridiculous to do, and definitely like something they’ve done before, except somewhere else, in other circumstances Yixing cannot bring himself to recall.

The words he says next, he remembers someone else speaking them out. “Oh, okay. Well, let’s just make the most out of our night, then, shall we?”

At that, Baekhyun furrows his eyebrows at him, lips parted as though he wants to say something, but his voice cuts short, words hanging in the air. Yixing knows, _knows_ what this means, what’s going on inside Baekhyun’s head—because it’s exactly what’s going on inside his, this odd feeling of having gone through this before, a long time ago, in…

It can’t be, possibly, but what if?

“Hyung,” Baekhyun says then, “have we done this before? I don’t think we’ve done this before.”

They’ve travelled Shanghai’s streets thousands of times before, and they both know it—but they also both know that’s not what Baekhyun means with his words, and so Yixing takes his time answering, picking out his words carefully. “Maybe we did, yeah,” he muses, slowly. “In another life, maybe?”

The laugh Baekhyun gives him is incredulous, but not unknowing. That’s what he was thinking, too, probably. “Whoa. That’s amazing, when you think about it.”

“So you really believe that, then?” Yixing asks. They start walking after that, the odd tensed moment dissipating as they make their way through the charming buildings surrounding them. “That Past-Yixing and Past-Baekhyun once just… took off running through the streets of Shanghai for a night escapade—”

“Not Shanghai,” Baekhyun cuts. His eyes brighten up with recognition. “It wasn’t Shanghai. It was… Lu Han said it was in the States, right?”

“Los Angeles, maybe?” Yixing entertains the idea, for a short while, of the both of them living under California’s sun. It clashes with the cold that’s seeping through his clothes, and the thought doesn’t fit with everything else, either.

“Not LA, no,” murmurs Baekhyun. He moves closer to Yixing, avoiding a passerby, but staying there even when the man has long disappeared in the crowd. “It was somewhere with a lot of buildings… Somewhere stinky.”

Yixing snorts, his thoughts scattering to the sound of his own laughter and Baekhyun’s words. “Somewhere _stinky_? What does that even mean, Baekhyunnie?”

“I’m serious!” Baekhyun counters, smile betraying him. It’s as though his body is moving on its own accord, following Yixing’s own as they walk side by side, always warm by Yixing’s side. “I just… my mind is like, _screaming_ about a city that smells. Bad smells. Like piss and smoke and stuff. But… pretty? How can a city smell bad and be pretty?”

“Look around you, Baekhyun,” is what Yixing offers. Although, right now, the streets smell of food and grease, there’s always the underlying, acrid odor of gas and something undecipherable that constantly lingers across the city, present but invisible amongst the mix of old and new architecture around them.

“Okay, yeah, point taken,” Baekhyun pouts. “But still. Maybe we lived in… I don’t know. Washington, or New York. New York sounds nice,” repeats Baekhyun. “We should go sometime.”

“You’d better not forget, piano man,” teases Yixing—yet his words seem to twist his own meaning, strangely ironic in their conversation. Yixing chooses to ignore it. “New York does sound nice, though.”

“Doesn’t it?” Then, Baekhyun stops, gripping Yixing’s arm and suddenly waving his other hand in front of him as he points to a nearby shop. “Ooh, hyung, I love that place! They have the best bubble tea _ever_ —”

“You say that about _every_ place that serves decent bubble tea, Baekhyun,” groans Yixing, but he lets his boyfriend grip his wrist, dragging him through the crowds and a few blocks further to reach the store.

“Pretty please, Xing-hyung?” Baekhyun flutters his eyelashes, pouting too cute for Yixing to resist. He’s doomed. He really should work on his Baekhyun resistance.

“I hate you, Byun Baekhyun,” he grumbles, already taking out his wallet as they enter the warm shop.

“No you don’t,” Baekhyun sings, and Yixing agrees, unfortunately.

When they emerge with their drinks in hand—Yixing opted for warm milk tea; Baekhyun’s warmth does a lot to attenuate the cold, but added warmth can do no harm in this case—Baekhyun proceeds to take out his phone, snapping a few pictures.

“This place is really pretty at night,” he remarks distractedly, eyes still on his phone screen where the cityscape is being captured.

Yixing agrees. He’s used to coming here, in Xintiandi, in the summer, when the sun is high up in the sky and the trees scattered across the district are in full bloom, their branches tracing shadows against the concrete of the soil. During that time, the streets are absolutely full, terraces packed with tourists, the summer glow enhancing the beauty of the modern buildings built against older structures.

Right now, in the winter, the concrete is wet with residual rain and the few specks of snow the city occasionally gets. Tourists are still present, but they’re not as numerous, and their cheeks are red with the cold, their eyes shining not from the sunlight but from the street lamps’ glow. The atmosphere is also different at night; it’s as though the neighborhood is bustling with activity that one cannot see simply from the sidewalks, bright lights in the dark hiding something enthralling in their spark.

Yixing takes a sip of his drink, the scorching heat sliding down his throat and warming his limbs. As he continues looking around, he somehow sees foreign streets being overlaid across the ones before him; they’re narrower, dirtier, but still hurried with energy. The feeling isn’t unfamiliar, either.

“Earth to Zhang Yixing,” Baekhyun’s voice calls out. When he tears his eyes away from his surroundings, Yixing finds Baekhyun watching him with amused confusion. “I lost you for a moment there, huh?”

“Not at all,” he shakes his head, and Baekhyun nods, unconvinced. “You were saying?”

Baekhyun’s smile morphs into something slightly hesitant, but brighter also, somehow. “Let’s take pictures, hyung. Like the ones we…” He stops, shaking his head from the thought, it seems. “No, scratch that. Let’s take pictures, let’s make our own memories from this night, yeah?”

“Since when do you speak in pretty prose like that, huh?” Yixing says instead of replying, but he moves his arm around Baekhyun’s shoulders as confirmation.

“I always have,” replies Baekhyun. “You’ve only just noticed, that’s all.” He raises his arm, his phone in hand, the screen showing their reflection as shot from the front camera. “Ready?”

Yixing tightens his hold around Baekhyun’s shoulders. “Ready.”

“Alright, one, two, three—”

At three, Yixing gets a surge of courage—he leans in, presses his mouth in a kiss against Baekhyun’s cheek, warm lips against warm skin in the frisky January wind. Baekhyun yelps, but Yixing still hears the shutter of the camera go off. Success.

“You gave me a heart attack, hyung!” Baekhyun yells, but it’s laced with laughter, and Yixing almost can’t see with how wide he’s smiling back. “Warn a man, would you?”

“But the surprise is the fun of it, Baekhyun-ah!”

“Oh, is it really? Let’s see.” Before he can comprehend what’s happening, Yixing is being grabbed by very Baekhyun-like hands and suddenly kissed by very Baekhyun-like lips, and he freezes.

He catches up fast on what’s happening, though, and he melts into it, familiar mouth sighing under him as he relaxes, the both of them moving like he knows they do. Baekhyun smiles into it, and Yixing kisses it from it, hands coming to frame Baekhyun’s face, resting at the juncture of his jaw and neck, allowing him to change the angle just a little.

They can’t go at it for too long, though—they break apart to catch a breath, and Baekhyun’s smile is blinding. Yixing almost forgets they’re in public, almost lets him lean in again to catch that mouth with his just once more.

“How’s that for a surprise, huh?” Baekhyun inquires, breathless, confident. His eyebrow is raised in challenge.

Yixing bites his lip. “Like I said,” he lets out, “the surprise is the fun of it, love.”

When Baekhyun laughs, Yixing feels it under his hands still on Baekhyun’s face, Yixing hears it in the tight space they’re sharing, Yixing promises himself never to forget this, any of this, all of this.

***

Yixing checks the time on his phone. He’s changed the lockscreen since that one time—the picture of his surprise kiss now welcomes him, Baekhyun’s surprised features bathed in elation, with the numbers _10:47_ inscribed at the top, atop Baekhyun’s dark bangs.

He puts his phone back to sleep, pockets it. He feels Baekhyun move closer to his left, but they’re both staring ahead. “By the way, Zitao says we should bring him something.”

In front of them stands quite an unimpressive street—no attraction whatsoever, not particularly stunning in terms of architecture or anything. A very average looking street, with shops lining the sidewalks and a few stands protruding out of entrance doors and front windows.

Amongst them, a small convenience store Yixing somehow still remembers more clearly than he had thought. It feels strange, to be back after a few months. It’s as though the cold winter brought with it a sense of… something changing, Yixing isn’t sure.

“He should have asked while we were still in town,” Yixing chooses to say to Baekhyun’s words. They only planned two days and one night in Beijing, after all; they don’t have time to run errands for Zitao.

“So this is it, huh?” Baekhyun says, voice lower than it was only moments before.

“This is it.”

“It’s just a store. Why am I so fucking terrified?”

“I am, too, if that helps,” Yixing confesses.

Baekhyun sighs next to him, before he starts walking. “Come on then, hyung.”

The inside looks just as unimpressive as the outside, and just like Yixing remembered it to be. However, there’s no one to welcome them, the shop empty, with no presence in the aisles nor behind the counter.

“Are you sure this is it?” Baekhyun inquires, and he only relaxes a little when Yixing nods.

However, before he can argue his case, a muffled voice slowly makes itself heard from behind the walls. “Sorry, sorry! We’re not closed, I promise! I was just—”

When he turns the corner, facing them from the back door, Lu Han stops short. Baekhyun turns to him, and Yixing thinks Lu Han is refraining himself from taking a step back.

Instead, the old man walks inside, steps more careful, slower and measured. “Shit. You made it.”

At his words, Baekhyun raises his eyebrows in surprise. “So _you’re_ Lu Han?”

“That’d be me. Glad to see you again, Baekhyunnie,” Lu Han replies easily, taking a seat in his chair. He falls heavily on his weight, but the smile he bears looks young, still; revived. “Your Mandarin got better since the last time I saw you.”

“Holy shit,” Baekhyun breathes out.

“I know,” both Yixing and Lu Han say at the same time, prompting them to look at each other. Yixing is the first one to look away.

“Welcome again, kids,” Lu Han continues. “What can I do for you?”

“That, actually, is a good question,” Yixing says out loud. Suddenly, he’s not sure what they had in mind, coming all the way to the capital, to talk to this man who pretends to be his friend from another life, or something. Suddenly, absolutely none of this makes sense, and he wants to chastise himself for believing in any of it for even just a second.

Baekhyun, however, doesn’t seem to be entranced by the same uncertainty. “Who are you?” he asks.

“I think we’ve just cleared that up, Baekhyunnie—”

“No, I mean, to us,” Baekhyun clarifies. “Who are you—or, um. Who _were_ you, to us. And don’t call me Baekhyunnie.”

Lu Han raises an eyebrow. “Sheesh. Your tongue got sharper through time too, eh?” He heaves a sigh, and it seems to resonate in the entire room, his old body moving with it. It’s the first time that Yixing really takes notice of how old Lu Han has gotten, seeing past the youthful image of him he’s had engraved in his brain.

That image, in itself, is illogical, impossible.

“So?” presses Baekhyun. He’s rigid next to Yixing, and Yixing brings up a hand to rest at the small of his back, a grounding contact for the both of them.

“My name is Lu Han. Born in 1949 in Beijing, before my family moved to New York City when I was seventeen. I met Yixing before that, though. When his family moved here. We went to the States together,” he adds, shooting a nostalgic smile in Yixing’s direction.

Suddenly, images come to him in quick succession—a train ride, from Changsha to Shanghai, leaving thick clouds of black smoke in its trail. A ferry, crowded and immense, crossing the Yellow Sea from Shanghai to Tianjin. Then, a bumpy car ride to the capital, where he meets a boy with doe eyes and a teasing smile and befriends him without asking himself any questions, because things have always been easy with Lu Han.

It’s not like before—these images ring too clear to be echoes of memories, like he usually gets. These images—they seem and _feel_ like moments of his own life that he’s recalling, and it’s enough to let chills run down his spine, shuddering violently.

“Hyung,” Baekhyun inquires, tone low, intimate. “Are you alright?”

Yixing swallows, closes his eyes shut forcefully. The images disappear, but the feeling doesn’t. He’s starting to remember, he knows.

_Right, surely you don’t remember me, huh?_

_Not yet, anyway._

Maybe it’s time, now.

Lu Han continues, however, seemingly oblivious to Yixing’s slip. “We lived in New York for a couple years. That’s when you—” he points to Baekhyun with a frail finger, and Baekhyun stops in place, eyes wide, attentive, “—come in. Tiny, tiny Baekhyunnie. Didn’t speak a word of Mandarin, not that much better with your English, either. You managed, though—brilliantly, even. Then, Yixing fell for you. And you did him, too, I believe.”

The smile he’s offering them is almighty, like he knows all, and Yixing and Baekhyun can only trust him on it. It’s a bit true, after all. They only know, can only remember from what Lu Han chooses to tell them.

It feels odd how, just like the first time Yixing was here, the store seems suspended in time, unreachable; only Lu Han’s words and his presence seem to truly matter, to truly be real, in this space that is all sorts of ridiculous and out of place.

“I was afraid you’d replace me, you know?” Lu Han laughs, fixing Yixing with a kind look. “Thought you had found yourself a brand new best friend and you’d forget all about me. But I found out pretty fast that, well, I was wrong. You didn’t act with me the way you did with him, you know. And Baekhyun, you were the same. I kind of figured, at some point, that you two were some sort of… special.

“Then Baekhyunnie here moved to Seattle. You sent a couple of postcards, at first, but then, they came in less and less often. And at some point, nothing. You vanished.” Lu Han shrugs. “We never really knew what happened.”

Baekhyun is strangely silent, eyebrows pointing downwards, leaving creases in his forehead. He’s thinking hard, Yixing knows—recognizes—but he’s not saying anything, not even mumbling, and it’s strange.

“And what next?” Yixing prompts, because maybe that’ll make him remember more, maybe that’ll make Baekhyun speak up.

Lu Han settles further in his seat, face morphing into something a little more bittersweet, reminiscing. “Next, life happened. You took over your family’s business, soon after Old Lady Zhang died and your mom couldn’t manage it on her own anymore. I got married. You didn’t. You were there when Li Jing was born, too. You vowed to look after her… and that you did, you know. I mean, up until…”

Lu Han’s words fade to silence, eyes completely serious, and Yixing guesses the meaning right away. Baekhyun, however, doesn’t seem to. “Up until what?”

There’s a pause before Lu Han answers, swallowing before he does so. “Yixing passed away in 1990. I left with my family for China soon after.”

It probably shouldn’t come as a shock, really—but it does. Hearing of his own death definitely isn’t something Yixing ever thought he would live through, and although they’re not talking about him per se, this entire thing is still strange enough, absolutely insane enough to hit close to home and leave him rather speechless.

Next to him, Baekhyun’s breath hitches. “Oh. Right.”

“Hey, none of that,” Lu Han says a little too loudly, a little too quickly. “You’re here now, aren’t you? Both of you. I can’t fucking believe Baekhyunnie’s farmer legend was real. I really lived my life thinking it was bullshit. At least most of it.”

“A farmer’s legend?” Baekhyun doesn’t mention Lu Han’s use of his nickname again.

“Yeah, something about four lifetimes. A life of planting, a life of watering, a life of harvesting, and a life of using the harvest. Apparently, you were convinced you had met before, and you were bound to meet again, in one of those.”

_“Do you think we’ll meet again?”_

_“I would hope so. Don’t miss me too much until then, hyung.”_

Baekhyun’s voice is clear in his head but speaking unfamiliar words, in a language he’s not that familiar with—but they’re so loud Yixing cannot ignore them, not anymore.

“Did I ever remember?” he asks Lu Han, closing his eyes, because it’s a bit too much, everything that’s happening, right now.

“You did,” Lu Han says. His voice is soft, calm. “Something about being a doctor during the 1800s. No offense, though, but you didn’t really make much sense when you tried to explain it to me. And when I asked, you just brushed it off. So if you’re confused today, it’s your own fault.”

Yixing’s first reflex is to roll his eyes at the man, tell him something along the lines of, “ _and how was I supposed to know I’d meet my old best friend some twenty-something years in the future, huh? You thought about that, Lu?_ ”

But he realizes he’s not actually best friends with Lu Han, and that the man who once was is now dead. It’s not him. He might have his memories, or some of them, at least—but he’ll never be the boy who grew up with Lu Han in the streets of Beijing, moving together to New York, meeting a young, shy Baekhyun who would move to Seattle before they can get to sort out their feelings for each other. He’ll never be Lu Han’s best friend again; he’ll never be little Li Jing’s favourite uncle either.

God forbid, he’ll never let go of Baekhyun, again.

“That’s so fucked up,” finally says Baekhyun, and his voice is hoarse. “That’s literally so fucked up.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Lu Han agrees. “I almost lost my shit when Xing walked in my shop, a couple months back. Thought I was seeing a ghost or something.”

“I think I freaked out more than you did,” Yixing retorts. “You knew my name and everything.”

“And that’s changed now?”

Yixing moves his head side to side, signaling that no, things are still pretty fucking scary and nonsensical to him. “Not really, no. I guess I grew used to things not making much sense.”

“Why do you speak like a teenager, though?” Baekhyun inquires then, eyes observing Lu Han with renewed awe, as though he’s seeing him for the first time. He is, Yixing reminds himself.

Lu Han laughs, wrinkles shifting as he does. “I usually don’t. I guess that’s the effect you guys have on me. If my little Li Jing would hear me now, she probably wouldn’t recognize me.”

“How old is she now?” Yixing asks.

“She’s got ten years on you, maybe,” Lu Han answers with a proud smile. It’s a refreshing look on him, Yixing feels. “That’s so crazy. She’ll always be my baby, but next to you, she’s…”

“We’re the babies now,” Baekhyun says, and Yixing suddenly feels so immensely relieved, just at the sound of Baekhyun’s humour.

Lu Han seems to feel the same way. “Yeah, exactly. You’re the babies now, kids.”

The conversation eases after that—as much as it can, anyway, with the odd circumstances of their meeting looming low above them. They get cut off by very few customers throughout the day, but by late afternoon, they have to excuse themselves, leaving behind a Lu Han they’re much more acquainted with and much more comfortable with, too.

Right before they walk out the front door, Yixing turns back to Lu Han’s retreating figure. “Lu Han!”

“Xing?”

“The pictures,” he says. “Why did you send them?”

“They’re nice memories, Yixing,” Lu Han’s soft voice replies, slightly trembling with age. “You both deserve to remember them.”

Lu Han’s words dance in his mind, replayed constantly, the entire way back to their hotel room.

***

They’re getting ready for bed that night, Yixing with a book propped up on his thighs that he is simply unable to focus on, Baekhyun fresh out of the shower. He’s towelling his hair, black strands looking darker with the water, skin flushed and lips unbelievably red.

Yixing wants to claim that mouth. He looks away, feeling Baekhyun’s eyes on him. “Are you really reading, hyung?” he hears him ask.

“If you’re asking, it’s because you know the answer, right?” Yixing says. He closes his novel, puts it back on the bedside table next to the room’s queen bed. “You okay? You’ve been quiet, since we left.”

He has. Baekhyun wasn’t completely silent, nor closed off, not really—simply a little more pensive than usual, keeping to himself at odd intervals during which he would usually ramble off and tease Yixing senseless. They still bickered and talked over dinner, comfortably so, but Yixing couldn’t help but notice the longer pauses Baekhyun would make, at times.

“I’ve just been thinking,” Baekhyun sighs. He throws the towel over the desk chair’s back, over Yixing’s own. He plops on the bed next, stretching his legs in front of him. He’s wearing shorts despite the chilly February weather outside. “It’s just weird to me, how we just… learned about all this. How, all of a sudden, we’re like… I don’t know.” He shrugs. “It’s scary.”

“How we might have been predestined lovers from the very beginning of time and our love for each other transcends time and space?” Yixing aims for teasing, but it comes off as nothing but.

Baekhyun still smiles, though. “Yeah, that. It’s scary, isn’t it? At least a little. As… completely and absurdly wonderful as it sounds, you know.”

Yixing silently agrees, nodding softly. He shifts on the bed, laying his head on the pillow, turning to face Baekhyun’s sitting form.

“Isn’t it weird how here, we’re just Baekhyun and Yixing, out to look for answers, I guess, meeting your alleged past self’s best friend, but as soon as we’re back home, we’ll go back to Baekhyun and Yixing, the music majors, with three annoying roommates and an entire life to build? Like… I don’t know. Past lifetimes dim, in comparison.”

Do they really? Yixing would argue, but he can’t find anything to counter Baekhyun’s words due to the truth they carry. He’s starting to think that this is scary, too. “I don’t know.”

“I feel like maybe it would have been better to just… live our lives not knowing, you know? What if this—what if it—never mind,” Baekhyun suddenly cuts himself off, shaking his head furiously. “I think I’m overthinking it.”

It’s not so much the entire concept that scares Yixing, after all—maybe it’s just Baekhyun’s words, the ones that hang unspoken between them. However, he bends to Baekhyun’s will, choosing to ignore them for as long as his mind allows it. “Lie down with me.”

When Baekhyun does, Yixing is suddenly drawn to his blood red lips again, and doesn’t stop himself from leaning in this time, coaxing him open with soft kisses. Baekhyun is willing, welcoming under him, moving to accommodate both. He grips Yixing’s arm, pulling him closer, groaning in his mouth, and Yixing is almost dizzy with how fast they’re moving.

He cups Baekhyun’s cheek with his hand, and Baekhyun covers it with his own, lacing their fingers together. They’re still kissing—languid, deep kisses, and Yixing has to throw a leg over Baekhyun’s body to make things easier. He rolls over him, bodies now pressing at almost every inch, tilting his head and pressing for more, asking a question with his lips and tongue.

Baekhyun answers, exhales against Yixing’s mouth, letting him in. His skin tastes sweet under Yixing’s tongue, under his ear, at the crook of his neck, and his lips again, always his lips. Their perfect bow shape, their plump flesh, their sweet taste; Yixing gets lost in it a little, head spinning.

A hand finds itself in his hair, threading softly through strands, before sliding down his neck, his back, resting at his waist. Yixing curves into it, lets the goosebumps erupt all over his skin, hides his face in Baekhyun’s neck, leaving open-mouthed at the pale skin there.

“Yixing,” Baekhyun’s voice is so low, breathed out in the most beautiful way, “wanna feel you.”

It’s said with such a soft tone, Yixing notes. He lingers against Baekhyun’s neck on his last kiss, before he pulls back, just looking at Baekhyun. Bright eyes, slightly hooded with faint lust and overwhelming _love_ , are staring back at him, pretty lips parted, cheeks and neck pink. Those eyes are searching for something, darting all across his face, and only settling when Yixing smiles softly, as sincerely as he can muster, watching as his smile is then mirrored on the face he’s admiring.

They take their time shedding off their clothes, and unlike before, the pace doesn’t quicken after that. Yixing still lets himself rediscover Baekhyun’s body under his hands, skin soft everywhere he touches, going over freckles and bumps and moles, always soft. Baekhyun makes soft, soft noises, delicate whimpers and muted moans and appreciative hums, skin growing darker with his blush and expression unbelievably pleased. Yixing kisses his forehead, the tip of his nose, his chin, just under his bottom lip.

Baekhyun’s hands are more insistent on his body, but they don’t rush things, still. The press of Baekhyun’s fingers against his skin is more firm, nails scratching at his scalp, hands gripping at his arms, legs tightening themselves around Yixing’s hips. Their mouths are joined again, kisses growing hungrier but not hastier, and Yixing is falling in love with the feeling, with kissing, with this thing they’re doing, and with Baekhyun.

It’s hard to know where this sudden peace comes from—or what it means, really—but Yixing drinks it in, lets it simmer under his skin, conveys it through his touch. Under him, Baekhyun squirms, praises him, keens, and it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever witnessed.

“Inside me,” Baekhyun orders, voice slightly strained but firm. “Yixing, please…”

It’s almost heartbreaking, pulling away from Baekhyun just to reach for what they need, and Yixing makes a quick job out of it—before going back to Baekhyun, Baekhyun’s breaths, his mouth, his hands. He coats his fingers, presses one against Baekhyun’s entrances, watches him shiver under the sudden cold.

It’s addicting, the way Baekhyun reacts under him—arching into the touch, pressing back against his hand, mouth opening wider in pleasure. The shape of Baekhyun’s neck when he throws his head back is a tantalizing image, imprinted against Yixing’s eyelids even when he closes his eyes.

Although Yixing doesn’t hurry their pace, he can feel Baekhyun growing impatient yet keeping himself from rushing either, opting to voice it out, moaning in the space of the bedroom. Sometimes, Yixing will lean it to swallow the sound with his mouth, and Baekhyun will moan right into it, tightening things deep inside Yixing’s gut.

He’s not sure how long it takes, or how long they’ve been going at it—but it’s almost liberating, relieving, when he’s finally pushing in inside Baekhyun, feeling him all around him, arms around his shoulders and his head hiding in his neck. Yixing has never felt like this before, has never felt so much before, has never loved Baekhyun more than right here, right now, before.

He moves slowly, dragging out his thrusts, Baekhyun’s fingers digging into his skin, forcing him in. “Yixing…”

“Baekhyun, you’re amazing, so amazing, you know that?”

“Yixing, you’re… this is— _God_ , this is…”

“I know, Baekhyun, I know, I…”

Their words get swallowed by their own whimpers and moans, and there comes a time when their resolve crumbles slightly, Yixing’s pace quickening just that much, Baekhyun growing just that little much louder. Their skin is covered with a sheer sheet of sweat, it tastes salty against Yixing’s tongue when he licks at Baekhyun’s skin, when he digs his teeth in the soft flesh of his shoulder.

It hits him like a violent rush, but it’s so peaceful at the same time, it feels like it lasts forever. Yixing lets out one final cry, his thrusts stilling, hips moving just that much to pull more out of this feeling, overwhelming, intoxicating—like nothing he’s ever felt before, even under Baekhyun’s touch; it’s never been this much, this good.

Baekhyun whines under him, and Yixing proceeds to move again, biting his lip and foregoing the last of his restraint, and after a few instants, it’s Baekhyun’s turn to come, his voice catching his throat and looking absolutely stunning.

Moments later, when they’ve both calmed down, cleaned up, and slid under the covers, when Baekhyun is asleep and his breath is even in the night, Yixing wonders why he almost felt like crying, a few moments before. He wonders why there’s desperation lacing his thoughts, he wonders what it all means.

Around him, as he falls asleep, the only thing he commits to memory is the warmth of Baekhyun against him and the shadow of Beijing’s lights across these unfamiliar bedroom walls.

***

When they get back, their routine resumes.

Jongin still hides his ramen packs in his room. Sehun still steals them, shares them with Yixing, and Yixing makes enough ramen for the both of them and saves some for Baekhyun, for when he gets back.

Zitao still wiggles their eyebrows at them when they’re caught kissing in their room or in the living room or in any room in the apartment, really. Sehun still pretends to gag and Jongin still reminds them of how adorable they are.

Baekhyun’s mom asks him to come home to Seoul, in mid-February, and they decide to stop by at the end of the month, before the Spring semester starts. Baekhyun introduces Yixing as his boyfriend, and Yixing blushes and dimples when Baekhyun’s mom says, “ _I’m so happy for you, son—and you too, Yixing-ah._ ”

Yixing’s grandparents, in turn, fall in love with Baekhyun, when they visit in June. His grandfather takes a particular liking to him, especially when they move to the pool table and Baekhyun starts bragging about his very serious but seemingly imaginary skills.

It’s perfect, for a year, and another, and three others after that. They get five years by each other’s side, but Fate has other plans for them, in this life—and she’s done waiting, it seems.

***

Baekhyun gets a gig in Germany.

Berlin absolutely loves him—just like Warsaw did before them, and so did Vienna and London and New York (of all places). Baekhyun has been to all those cities, performing and thriving under the acclaim, but he always made it back home, or took Yixing with him, when he had the chance.

Yixing, who has found himself an amazing opportunity right here in Shanghai, working for the country’s most prolific entertainment company and doing things on the side for American, British, and South Korean agencies, when they need him—which occurs more often than not, as Yixing’s skill (under the alias _LAY_ ) is heavily praised behind the curtains of the music scene. He does what he knows and loves best, in the city he’s grown to love, coming home—most of the time—to the love of his life.

And that’s the thing, really, that keeps them going—it’s the certainty that Baekhyun always makes it back home, always finds himself in Yixing’s arms, at the end of the day. It has always been his starting point, and his ending case. When Baekhyun leaves, Yixing expects him to return, and vice versa.

Except Berlin doesn’t want Baekhyun to return, and Baekhyun—for the first time, Yixing thinks—is considering staying, too.

In retrospect, it’s not the first time he’s mentioned it, but Yixing had never thought it to be serious, had never thought it to be a possibility, even. It simply didn’t make sense, and anyway, they were meant to be together, nothing could take them apart, not even enchanting, promising Berlin and its orchestra.

Right? Nothing could… right?

But somehow, Baekhyun leaves, and he stays. Yixing becomes only the starting point in this adventure, and Berlin is the point B in Baekhyun’s endeavour, this time, with a scary finality. Baekhyun, who begs him to follow him, and later, to forgive him, and later, to understand. Yixing tries, everything, but he cannot stay for longer than two months, and later, he forgives him too easily, and in the end, he is unable to understand.

Of course, it’s impossible for them to cut off contact, completely. They still call and text and bicker over the phone, from opposite points across the globe, but it’s different and awful and there comes a time Yixing isn’t even sure he can call Baekhyun his anymore.

“Hyung,” Jongin says. They’re both in the kitchen—Jongin and Soojung’s kitchen, in their own apartment where they moved in a year ago, “you should just ask him.”

“Asking him would mean letting him know I’m… doubting everything,” Yixing says. He feels much older than he looks, eyes and limbs tired, his elbows resting on the counter as he watches Jongin make dinner. “I don’t want him to think I’ve given up on him?”

“You haven’t?” The question seems innocent, but it’s asked softly, just pressing enough to sound rhetorical, and it stings and Yixing almost breaks. “Maybe you should, then, hyung.”

“I can’t.” It’s said with vehemence, certitude, finality, almost.

Jongin doesn’t give up, though. He stops his hand where it’s mixing the contents of his broil with the wooden spoon he’s holding. “Well, maybe you just have to, you know. It happens. People come and go and things just don’t work out the way we wanted them to.”

Yixing wants to argue that he and Baekhyun are different—that they’re _soulmates_ , real soulmates, no matter how much they’ve joked on the matter. He wants to argue that they’re different, the two of them, that they have lifetimes to share by each other’s side and that this one cannot simply vanish like this, and he cannot let go so easily, without a fight, and—

And it’s suddenly so ridiculous, all of a sudden. He hates himself, suddenly, for believing in all of that nonsense, for taking those ridiculous coincidences for a matter of fact, for letting it all guide his perception of the relationship he’s had with Baekhyun—one he seemingly cannot salvage, not anymore.

“You know,” Jongin says in the silence, disturbing Yixing’s thoughts, “I had a massive crush on you, way back when.”

Yixing stops short. “What—really? But me, and Baekhyun…”

Jongin nods, a wistful smile on his lips. “Yeah, exactly. That happened, and I just couldn’t… I couldn’t be jealous, or angry, or anything. Not for long periods of time, anyway. What you two had… it was nice to see, you know?”

It feels like twisting the knife deeper, but Yixing relents. “You kept reminding us about it, too.”

“I did,” Jongin agrees. “I was certain I was in love with you, but then I thought, maybe Baekhyun loved you just as much, too. And so you deserved each other.” He snorts then, shaking his head. “But I quickly realized that Baekhyun probably was crazy about you in ways I wasn’t. And then I met Soojung, and I kind of understood you guys, a little, now.”

“Please don’t end up like me and Baekhyun did,” Yixing pleads. He means to sound joking, but they both notice how serious his words ring.

“I can’t make any promises, hyung, but I’ll definitely try,” Jongin agrees, easy smile growing on his face, going back to his dinner.

Later that week, Yixing takes the train to Beijing. At the shop, however, Li Jing welcomes him, and she narrows her eyes at him, unable to recognize the man he’s become and how he must fit in her memories.

Yixing knows the feeling.

She tells him with poorly hidden sadness that Lu Han won’t be coming to the shop anymore, having grown too weak in the recent months to bring himself to work.

When Yixing makes the trip to the hospital, Lu Han smiles at him the way he did five, thirty, fifty years ago. It’s as reassuring as it is heartbreaking.

“Maybe you’ve still got a chance, kid,” Lu Han says. “Or else things wouldn’t have gotten so complicated for nothing. And who knows, maybe a few centuries down the line, we’ll all meet again,” he adds, closing his eyes over a smile.

Yixing hopes, prays, begs for him to be right.

 

 

***

 

**iv. life of cherishing the harvest**

_Jianfeng Municipality (near modern day Algiers), Algeria, July 2557_

The sun beats unbearably strongly on their backs as they walk from their house’s doorstep to the Common Building where they spend most of their days.

It’s not like Yixing isn’t used to going outside—he’s been living in this Municipality for over five years, now, and the air here is cleaner than in most parts of the world despite the country’s strong pollution levels in the past. Plus, he enjoys late evenings at the beach, too, when his schedule leaves time for it. It’s not like he spends his life enclosed in sealed spaces and shuttles, even though his lifestyle allows for it.

But he’s also used to taking the tramway to the Building, to avoid the sunrays. He also grew up in a very polluted China with very high levels of various chemicals floating in the air, highly difficult to isolate or dissipate, making outdoor exposure quasi-impossible. The Eunkwang Municipality he and Baekhyun had lived in a few years, near San Francisco, wasn’t any different—although the air was much cleaner there, the climate had drastically changed in the last few centuries, rendering it much more unpredictable than it had been in the early 2000s and making it very difficult to stay outside for more than a few minutes at a time.

So although the region of Algiers is welcoming with its mostly stable climate—constantly warm and constantly humid, especially now in the summer—and its somewhat clean air, Yixing still isn’t used to actually spending time outside. Mornings, especially, are far from a common occurrence.

Next to him, though, Baekhyun is smiling, his hat leaving a shadow across his eyes and above his cheeks, his blonde hair peeking from the lapels of it, unkempt and beautiful. He seems to fit right in under the sun, his skin shining gold under the warm light, with tiny pricks of sweat across his brow and above his upper lip. In fact, he seems unbothered by the heat, and doesn’t seek the shade offered by the high, old buildings of the city like Yixing is.

“We should have taken the tramway,” Yixing mumbles under his breath. It’s slightly laboured, but he tries to mask it. He can’t let Baekhyun know.

Baekhyun only sighs contentedly, throwing his head back towards the sun. They seem to have a silent conversation, Yixing thinks, in a language only them can understand. “You don’t mean that, Yixing,” he condemns with a small grin. “If you weren’t so busy complaining in that head of yours, maybe you’d see how it’s actually enjoyable, to walk outside, you know.”

“It’s really hot,” Yixing whines. He pulls at his shirt, grimaces when it sticks back to his skin with sweat.

“It is,” Baekhyun acquiesces. “We’re July 3rd. Right in the middle of summer. It’s not exactly a surprise, is it?” He lowers his head, flashing Yixing a smile. Yixing melts from more than just the heat. “Isn’t it great, though? You can’t feel the air inside the shuttles. You can’t feel the sun either, or the heat. It’s too… clean, inside.”

Yixing almost retorts that clean is good, clean is healthy and secure and comfortable, but he knows what Baekhyun means. Baekhyun is like that, too—he falls in love easily, with little things and their raw nature, with the sun and the heat and the trees and their flowers. He falls in love constantly with stars, a new one every time they manage to watch the sky on some lucky evenings when the fogs aren’t too thick.

He falls in love with people, too, with their quirks and the way they smile, and he endeavours to constantly bringing that out of them, in the most beautiful ways. Yixing knows that, has watched it happen more than once—with Minseok and Jongdae, the first time Yixing had met the trio they form with Baekhyun, despite having known each other for over ten years; with Chanyeol, when Yixing had introduced them, even though they had only just met.

But Yixing also knows there’s a peculiar way Baekhyun looks at him, feels for him. He knows—and cherishes the fact—that Baekhyun has fallen in love with him in a manner that might surpass his usual ways, and Yixing couldn’t be happier about the fact as he feels the same, if not a little more.

He smiles distractedly at the fact, and that seems to catch Baekhyun off guard. “Hyung?”

“Uh? Oh.” Right, because Baekhyun was talking about summer, and the heat and the too clean air inside, and Yixing is lost in thoughts of love and the beauty that shines from Baekhyun’s eyes. “I guess summer is nice, yeah.”

“It’s Independence Day, soon,” Baekhyun notes. “July 5th. It used to mean so much more, before.”

Yixing knows that. After another Civil war that tore apart the country in the mid-2000s, it’s as though the country has gained another independence, renewing itself and prospering into one of Africa’s top tier countries in ways it wasn’t by the past. However, the locals still celebrate on July 5th, because the war of the 1950s was still a turning point like no other, and it would be too much effort to coordinate another day of celebration throughout the year, the government had decided.

“The fireworks this year are bound to be amazing,” Yixing says. They’ve almost reached the Common Building—he sees it peak at the horizon, an immense dome of glass and white cement walls that stand even higher than the worn out Maqam Echahid a handful of miles further.

“We can’t see them from the Building, though,” says Baekhyun. He’s skipping now, dirt raising under his feet. His bare legs are getting dusted with it. “We’ll have to leave Jianfeng for Algiers, for us to see them best. Maybe by the port?”

Yixing shakes his head. “Minseok says the best spot is by the Maqam Echahid. They used to do big shows at the Stadium, a long time ago, but then the War tore it down.”

“Sounds good. We should all go.”

They reach the Building, going through its sets of doors and cleaning chambers before making it to the main hall. There, high elevators rise through the various levels, each of them corresponding to a lifestyle necessity: education, health services, administration, leisure, and others; and at the very top, the Municipality’s government. Each country has these Municipalities set up across the globe, offering various services typical to a home country’s laws, but all are welcome and free in each and any Municipality they might encounter—it’s part of the Worldwide Declaration of Peace that was set up over two hundred years ago, that most countries have respected thus far.

The United States had a hard time adjusting, but no one was surprised about that.

They ride the elevator together, and when Yixing leaves at the second floor—education, where he teaches History—Baekhyun leaves a quick peck on his lips. “I’ll see you later?”

“How does lunch sound to you?”

Baekhyun nods. “Lunch sounds good. Bring Chanyeol with you! I miss his ugly face.”

When the doors close, Yixing watches the cabin go up, stop at the fourth floor where Baekhyun gets off in turn—health services, where the security is tighter and Baekhyun is required to change into work clothes before starting his day.

On his way to class, he bumps into Chanyeol, wide eyes pulling at the corners when he breaks into a goofy smile. “You’re early today.”

“Baekhyun wanted to walk,” Yixing offers as a reply, trying to hide how his cheeks must be red from the effort and the summer heat.

Aware of Yixing’s reticence towards the outside, Chanyeol laughs, too loud in the wide hallways. “Ah, our Baekhyunnie. You must really love him for you to let him convince you do all these silly things. At least you’re not late today, apparently the tramway got stuck this morning.”

“Uh. Good thing, then, sure.” He enters the secondary education faction, Chanyeol in tow, and directs his steps towards his classroom. “Oh, by the way, are you free at lunch today? Baekhyun and I are getting food together.”

“So you’re asking me if I’m up for third-wheeling you guys?” Chanyeol snorts. “I’m only tagging along if Minseok and Jongdae are coming too.”

“Wouldn’t you still be third-wheeling in that case, though?” Yixing snickers. It’s no secret to anyone—except maybe the involved two—that Minseok has quite a huge crush on Jongdae, and Jongdae has quite a huge crush on Minseok. How they’ve been oblivious for so long, Yixing doesn’t know.

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, Yixing.” Chanyeol’s smile turns into a smirk, and he almost looks dangerous like that, if it wasn’t for his too tall frame that renders him almost too charming to be taken seriously. “Minseok and Jongdae are pure, absolute entertainment. Teasing them is my favourite pastime.”

“And Baekhyun’s,” Yixing adds. They’ve reached his classroom, and he turns to Chanyeol.

“And Baekhyun’s,” Chanyeol repeats.  He leans against the wall, where Yixing has his hand against the handle of his classroom door. “I don’t have class until ten. I’ll go find Yesung-hyung and see if we can get some planning done for the next unit.”

Chanyeol teaches Chemistry. Yixing wonders how anyone has let him work near chemicals, but he also knows Chanyeol is unbelievably good at his job. “I’ll text you for lunch, then.”

Chanyeol leaves with a wink, and Yixing enters the room, loud talking turning into low whispers and snickers. He turns on the board at the front, raises an eyebrow when a hand is already raised. “I haven’t even started class yet.”

“I was just wondering, though,” the student speaks, not even bothering to wait for Yixing’s call. He’s not the type to get annoyed at that, though, on the contrary. “I read somewhere that kids before the War used to have long vacation in the summer.” She pouts, tilting her head. “So why do we still have class today?”

Yixing sighs. He’s gotten this question almost every year, around July. “You’re talking like you’re not getting a month off in two days,” he retorts. “You’re getting a month off for every two months you spend at school. Don’t act like that’s not a good thing.”

Groans answer him, but they quiet down soon, and by nine sharp, Yixing starts his class.

***

Yixing met Baekhyun when he was nineteen and Baekhyun was eighteen.

They kicked it off right away, in a small Municipality by the borders of Changsha, where Baekhyun had just moved in, along with Minseok’s and Jongdae’s families. The three of them clicked with Yixing and Chanyeol, his best friend since childhood, seamlessly and easily. They finished secondary education together (almost) and entered university only a year apart, Yixing in History and Education, Baekhyun in Medical Studies and Knowledge. They started dating on their third year, and didn’t leave each other’s side since then.

They moved to Eunkwang, in the San Francisco area, in 2546, and stayed there until 2552. Back then, Minseok and Jongdae were still in Changsha, and Chanyeol had already moved to Jianfeng. It was when Chanyeol let them know about open positions in the Algerian-based Municipality that they all made the move to the city, and have stayed there since.

Through the many years Yixing has known Baekhyun, he has often wondered if, maybe, they were tied by their souls—like the legends would say; people who were meant to find each other through various lifetimes, bound by a cycle of harvest not unlike the one plants go through at the Botany and Agriculture territories at the edges of the Municipality. Lives of planting, watering, harvesting, and cherishing goods, during which they would meet and love in various ways.

Sometimes, Yixing dreams of it, too—far away memories from all across the globe, either too ancient to grasp or too unfamiliar to comprehend. There’s still the lingering thought of he and Baekhyun being more than the pair they make, but Yixing also has a feeling—an urgency, even—that assures him that it isn’t the basis of their relationship, not exactly.

Love shouldn’t be based on how many times you meet or how many lives you spend by each other’s side. It’s an experience of feeling, of understanding, of sharing. Yixing isn’t sure where he’s learned that, but it’s knowledge hidden in the back of his mind that sometimes makes itself heard when he thinks too much about that soulmate stuff.

Although, if he’s honest, he doesn’t hate the idea—in the end, it only means more time by Baekhyun’s side, more of Baekhyun that he has grown to know and love, either past, present, or future. That’s what it should be about, really.

As he looks up to the sky, now, vividly coloured fireworks exploding against the blueish black of the sky, there’s the strange feeling he sometimes get of having seen this—or rather, felt this—before; it’s in the way the colours leave shadows across Baekhyun’s face, lights reflecting in his eyes, that remind him of city street lamps and cold nights out and evenings spent on rooftops some long, long time ago.

Baekhyun turns to him, tilting his head in a question. “Still with me?”

“Always,” Yixing replies truthfully. He brings his arm around Baekhyun’s waist, pulling him closer. They’re sitting at a flight of stairs left behind by the city’s centuries old history, built a long time ago by God knows who, having survived the multiple wars that struck the country. The steps are uneven under their bodies, but they offer an amazing view of the city and the sky alike.

Minseok and Jongdae are at the step right in front of them. They’re strangely quiet, and Yixing furrows his eyebrows.

“What’s up with them?” he asks Baekhyun. The latter sighs deeply.

“God fucking knows,” he mumbles. He lets his head fall on Yixing’s shoulder, and it reminds him of so many nights he’s never lived before he almost gets dizzy with it. The memories, it seems, always grow stronger at night. “They were fine all morning, but by the time we left the facilities, Minseok refused to speak to Jongdae and Jongdae has looked like a kicked puppy ever since.”

“No offense, but Minseok-hyung also looks like a kicked puppy,” notes Chanyeol. He’s sitting next to Baekhyun, licking his fingers free of some sugary glaze from one of the sweets he bought earlier from a street vendor. “Maybe one of them slipped up and confessed and they didn’t have the guts to do something about it.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Baekhyun thinks. But then he stops, freezing. “Oh, shit, is it because of—”

“Don’t say it,” resonates Minseok’s voice. It’s the first Yixing has heard of him all night. They’re supposed to be celebrating, damn it. “I don’t care.”

Jongdae looks all the more confused, and all the more annoyed, his front crumbling. “You don’t care about what?” he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. “You’ve been acting like a little bitch, hyung, since we left the hospital, and I’m fucking tired—”

“Why don’t you go complain about it to Sunyoung, then?” Minseok replies, and Yixing thinks it’s meant to sound biting, but it only seems petulant and sad. “She’ll surely listen, right?”

Jongdae’s face freezes, understanding slowly filling his traits. Next to Yixing, Baekhyun sighs. “Here we fucking go,” he whispers. “Finally.”

He hears Chanyeol chuckles softly, but Yixing turns his attention back to Jongdae when he speaks. “Oh my God, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Surprise,” Minseok deflates. Yixing still can’t see his face, only the mess of brown hair on the back of his head, as the older stares straight ahead at the irregular line of the horizon. “I’m a jealous fuck.”

“Minseok,” Jongdae starts, but Minseok cuts him short.

“Spare me your apologies, Jongdae,” he sighs, but Jongdae only huffs, frustrated.

“No, fuck, Minseok, I don’t—I don’t like Sunyoung, Christ.”

Another set of fireworks goes off, green and red and white exploding in the sky—the country’s official colours, leaving pretty patterns across his friends’ pained expressions. It’s a little funny and a little amazing, Yixing thinks.

“I don’t like her,” Jongdae repeats. “I don’t know what you heard, or how much—”

“She came in your office,” Minseok cuts, because that’s what he’s best at. Baekhyun groans, but it’s muffled by Minseok’s voice again. “She confessed, and you let her speak through it, and you reached for her hand and—”

“And I apologized and said I didn’t feel the same, hyung,” Jongdae finishes. “I rejected her, and told her I liked—no, I told her I loved someone else.”

“Oh.” Minseok swallows. “They’re lucky, then.”

“You fucking idiot,” Chanyeol’s voice then says. “Jongdae’s in love with you, hyung. We’ve all fucking noticed since, like, second year, back in Changsha.”

At Chanyeol’s words, both Jongdae and Minseok widen their eyes, which only prompt the three others to laugh. Baekhyun’s loud laughter rings the loudest, and Yixing drinks in the sound.

On their way home, Baekhyun skips his steps again, but his pace is slow. They’ve taken the tramway from Algiers to Jianfeng, but decided to walk from the station to their house. The heat is bearable, this late at night—there’s a thin breeze that makes Yixing’s clothes dance away from his skin, refreshing and tasting of salt and dust. He hears Minseok and Jongdae giggle a few steps behind them, but pays them no mind—the secure hand he has around Baekhyun’s is enough to occupy his attention wholly.

“Yixing,” Baekhyun says. His voice is so low, a quiet rumble in the night, and Yixing closes his eyes at the sound. “We should get married.”

Yixing opens his eyes as fast as he’s closed them, steps stopping short. “Married?”

Baekhyun turns to him, face a little too casual for the words he’s just spoken. Then again, Yixing doesn’t miss the assured, certain spark in his eyes. “Yeah, let’s get married. It’ll be fun!”

“It’ll be more than fun,” Yixing laughs shakily, limbs suddenly buzzing with excitement despite the early morning hours. The cracking of the fireworks still rings in his ears. “You really want us to get married, seriously?”

“Of course I do,” Baekhyun says, almost indignantly. He tugs at Yixing’s hand, and Yixing starts walking again at the cue. “Unless you plan to run away from me, but you shouldn’t even consider it, hyung. You won’t make it past the edges of Jianfeng before I find you and make you fall in love with me all over again.”

“I’ll never fall out of love with you, Baekhyun,” Yixing assures. It’s scary words to utter, but he says them with strong certitude. “I don’t think I’ve ever not been in love with you.”

Baekhyun hums in satisfaction, hand squeezing his gently. “Do you think we’ve gotten married before?”

“What do you mean?”

“In another life, perhaps. I don’t think this is the first time we’ve met, hyung.”

So Baekhyun thinks so, too. He speaks of it easily, though, without burden. “Maybe we did. We’ll have to outdo that wedding, though. We need to throw the best party the world has ever known.”

“I can do with that, yeah,” Baekhyun nods. The fatigue only makes his features softer, more approachable, and Yixing pulls at his hand, leaving a kiss against his boyfriend’s—soon-to-be-husband’s—cheek. “I want flowers, and pastel colours.”

“We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we?”

“Maybe we have. I still think flowers is the way to go.”

“Good. I’m not letting you have it any other way, you know.” It should be alarming, how easily they’re speaking of marriage late at night, like they’re talking about a list of groceries or a planned road trip to the neighbouring cities. That brings a question to Yixing’s mind. “Where would we get married?”

“We could go back to Seoul,” Baekhyun muses. “We could rent Namsan Tower, or something.”

“I don’t think we can afford that, Baekhyunnie.” That, and the fact that Baekhyun had complained the entire trek up the attraction despite their stops at the various rest stations set up across it, the last time they went, two years ago.

Baekhyun shrugs, unbothered. “We’ll think of something, Yixing. We always do.”

“We do, yeah.”

That night, they let the curtains of the glass wall in their room wide open, and Yixing feels like he’s at the top of the world.

***

The next week, they leave for the beach.

They decide to drive to the East, one afternoon—that’s where the best spots are, Baekhyun insists. Yixing doesn’t argue; truly, he doesn’t mind, as long as Baekhyun’s pleased—and pleased he is, cheeks protruding with how wide his boxy smile gets.

As they drive along the highway that lines the coast, the wind blows their hair away, Baekhyun’s hat flying out more than once before he gives up on wearing it completely. From the backseat, Jongdae is yelling along to the stereo rather than singing, and Minseok finds it enough of an excuse to shut him up with a kiss, every time. Everyone knows Jongdae does it on purpose, for that exact reason.

Driving is rare, these days, but Chanyeol had insisted they took his van. “It’s part of the _experience_ , guys,” he had said. “Like those movies from way back when.”

“You still watch _movies_?” Baekhyun had retorted, incredulous. “VR exists, you know.”

Yixing had agreed to drive, and they make it to Tighremt in just a little over an hour. It also helps that the fast-speed highways are empty, due to the population’s preference for the train and flying systems.

They check in at the gates, parking in the mostly empty space reserved for cars, then take a shuttle to the edges of the accessible parts of the beach. “We still need to walk, though,” Baekhyun specifies inside the vehicle, “that’s how we can get the good spots with no one around. They’re the prettiest, too.”

And Baekhyun truly has the eye for the aesthetically pleasing—the spot they settle at is covered in smooth rocks instead of wet sand, extending even under the water of the Mediterranean Sea offered to them. Dents in the cliff that stands behind them makes it so that they’re slightly secluded from the rest of the beach strand, high rocks standing high on both sides, like having their own little oasis of peace along the coast.

When he drops his bags, Chanyeol stretches his arms high above his head, eyes wide and smiling. “Baekhyun-ah, this is incredible!”

“It is, isn’t it?” Baekhyun agrees. “Just like it used to be.”

“We’ve been here before,” Jongdae says. He’s walking hand in hand with Minseok, setting their bags next to Chanyeol’s against the smooth rocks on the ground. “A long time ago, though. I don’t know how you remember this place, Baekhyunnie.”

“When was it?” Yixing asks. He takes out his towel, layers it above the rocks. When he sits down, they surprisingly don’t dig into his skin.

“I was fifteen,” Minseok smiles, nostalgic. He’s taken his shirt off already. “So you can do the math, it’s been quite a while. It was for vacation, obviously. I never thought I’d move here, back then.”

“Funny how things work out, huh?” Baekhyun smiles.

“That’s all cool and stuff, but we have something more pressing at hand, kids,” Chanyeol interrupts. He also got rid of his clothes, and he cannot stand still—having known Chanyeol for over twenty years, Yixing just _knows_ he’s about to pull a trick on them.

“And what would that be?” he asks cautiously, untangling himself from Baekhyun’s one-armed embrace, taking off his own shirt and sandals.

The smile Chanyeol throws at the four of them is wicked, excited, contagious. “Last in the water has to cook!”

He then rushes to the water, long limbs flailing, and Yixing can’t help but laugh, gripping his sides. “That’s it?”

“What a fucking child,” Minseok shakes his head. “You guys go. I was planning on taking care of the barbecue on my own, anyway.”

“You’re the best, hyung!” Baekhyun says, running behind Chanyeol and into the water. Jongdae joins them moments later, and Yixing stays back, still laughing.

Baekhyun’s feet dig too deep between the thin rocks and make him stumble for a few feet at once a little too many times. His arms end up flailing around as he tries to regain his balance, and that probably does not look as charming as he would like to appear, but it’s fine. Yixing loves it, all of it.

The air tastes salty from the sea water next to them, but it’s sweet also, or maybe that’s just him. Everything seems sweet and lovely when Baekhyun is around.

“Are you staying back to give me a hand, Xing?” Minseok asks from behind, startling him.

He turns to find Minseok watching him curiously. “Sure, why not,” Yixing lets out after a short silence. He walks back to his friend, helps him unpack the food they’ve brought.

They have meat—a lot of meat—along with oranges, figs, and watermelon. They’re all fresh from the Botany reserves, and they look more than appetizing.

“You look like you’re gonna devour those figs, Yixing-ah,” Minseok chuckles next to him.

“I haven’t had those in so long,” he confesses. “I’m just excited, that’s all.”

“You’re excited about a lot of things, lately,” Minseok notes. He’s crouching next to the portable barbecue they’ve carried along with them. Minseok only needs to press a handful of commands for the stove to light up pale blue, grills already ready to be in use.

“Am I?” Yixing says. Carefully, he opens the boxes of prepared food they’ve packed.

Minseok nods, a knowing smile playing across his lips. The man is really beautiful, Yixing admits, cat-like eyes piercing and pretty, carefully shaped lips quirking up nicely. “Yes, you are. Baekhyun must be doing some good stuff, lately.”

Yixing snorts. He walks to the setup next to Minseok, handing him the food. “I could say the same about you, now that you’ve found yourself your own lovebird.”

It’s funny how quickly Minseok’s expression changes, going from smug to cutely flustered and secretly pleased. “Shut up,” Minseok mumbles. “I’m not the one getting married soon.”

“Oh.” Yixing freezes. He’s not aware that word of his and Baekhyun’s wedding plans—although somewhat vague, at the moment—had gotten out. Then again, Baekhyun does have a tendency of speaking rather excitedly about too many things, especially regarding Yixing, in general. It’s endearing, for the most part. “I’m getting married?”

Minseok raises an eyebrow at him, stopping in his movements. The food is on the grill, sizzling and already smelling wonderful. “Aren’t you? I mean, I thought Baekhyun was joking, to be honest, when he mentioned it at the office, but you guys have been together, like, forever, so much so that… I don’t know.” A pause, Minseok’s face growing worried. “Please don’t tell me I’ve ruined things for you guys.”

“No, no, oh my God, Minseok, no!” Yixing quickly amends. “I was just surprised, that’s it. But I do, I think. I do want to marry Baekhyun. I think I will, actually.”

“Good, ‘cause Jongdae is already talking about matching suits for us to wear and he’s being a _pain_ about it, Xing, honestly,” Minseok laughs.

“Hey, you’ll tell Jongdae that it’s our wedding, and _we_ have to look the best. Baekhyun would throw a fit otherwise, anyway.”

“Baekhyun would probably make sure everyone has matching outfits, if you ask me,” Minseok muses. He’s back at attending the food, and Yixing decides to go set up a table for them to eat at.

“Actually, we’ve talked about that. So if Jongdae wants to start thinking about suits now, you guys should look into pastel. And flowers.”

“Typical,” Minseok sighs, but he smiles through it, softening at the edges.

Baekhyun comes back from the water soon after, dripping all over the tablecloth Yixing has set over the food to protect it from the air and the insects. Despite it, though, he kisses him soundly on the mouth, licking the salt of the water and scrunching his nose at the strong taste. Baekhyun winds his arms around Yixing’s neck, water sliding down Yixing’s back, making him shiver slightly.

“Missed me?” Baekhyun asks between two kisses.

“Absolutely not,” Yixing replies, stealing another peck. “Minseok-hyung here is much better company.”

Baekhyun huffs, breaking away from their embrace. Yixing wiggles his eyebrows at him, though, and Baekhyun can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of his throat.

When Chanyeol and Jongdae come over with water guns, it becomes Yixing and Minseok’s mission to protect the table of food from their friends’ offenses—leading to them getting more wet than their opponents, after a while.

“I swear to God, Park Chanyeol, you’re fucking dead to me,” Minseok threatens when they’ve set to eating after a ceasefire.

They all know, though, that Minseok’s threats are empty, and mean something—something that screams happiness and an amazing feeling of carelessness that’s painted all over their faces.

Above them, the sky is turning pink and blood red as the sun sets, gliding slowly in the horizon. Minseok and Jongdae are asleep over the towel they share, and Chanyeol isn’t too far away, plucking at his guitar, noting down some of the bars he comes up with.

Fingers circle around Yixing’s wrist, and he looks up to find Baekhyun looking back at him, eyes soft, so soft. “Come with me,” he says simply, and Yixing follows him, just as easily.

The water is warm, not cold like Yixing expects it to be. It doesn’t bite at his skin, on the contrary—it slides against it smoothly, like a blanket enveloping him in a comforting, refreshing embrace, not too different from the solid arms that tie themselves around his neck and the legs that circle his waist.

“You’re heavy, Baekhyunnie,” Yixing teases, although his hands swim to settle under Baekhyun’s thick thighs, pulling them flush against each other. “You’re gonna topple us over.”

“If we do topple over, that just means you’re not strong enough, Xing,” Baekhyun flicks water at his face. “Suck it up.”

Rather than answering him, Yixing just stares, just lets his eyes trace patterns against Baekhyun’s sun-kissed skin. He often does that, just lets himself detail every little thing about Baekhyun’s face, denotes his favourites—but it’s only sometimes that it hits him sharply that the most powerful, most prominent feature of Baekhyun’s that Yixing loves is how his heart shines from within, kindness and cheek and intelligence just as beautiful as his handsome traits. More so, it’s the love he holds in his eyes, directed only at him, that makes him dizzy with just how much Baekhyun means to him.

“Quit staring,” Baekhyun teases, but it’s said breathlessly, quiet. Admiring.

“I can’t,” Yixing offers honestly.

At that, Baekhyun brings a hand to his eyes, sliding it from his forehead to his nose, fingertips and palm slowly guiding Yixing’s eyelids to close. Yixing lets it be, exhales against Baekhyun’s wet skin. “Here,” he hears Baekhyun say. It hasn’t lost the awestruck quality it held moments ago. “You’re set.”

“I miss your face already.”

“Shut up, you’re so corny, God.”

A giggle makes it out of his lips, and he is answered with a press of lips against his own.

Yixing doesn’t think there will come a time he will get tired of kissing Baekhyun—there’s always something new, something exciting and addicting to the way they move against each other, that keeps him coming back for more. He must have received hundreds, thousands of those kisses—yet the urge to receive more only seems to grow with time.

It feels as though it’s darker now than it was moments before, when Baekhyun had ran his hand over his face, as he opens his eyes again, their lips detaching from each other. Yixing already wants to plunge back in.

Instead, he asks a question. “Will you marry me, Baekhyun?”

“I thought I made that clear, on Independence Day,” tuts Baekhyun, but there’s something immensely profound in his eyes that keeps Yixing anchored. It tells him that maybe, Baekhyun needed that added confirmation as much as he did.

“So you will? You’ll marry me, in Seoul or elsewhere, covered in pastels and roses?”

“Lilies and peonies,” Baekhyun corrects. Water slides down his temple, and Yixing moves to kiss it. “But yes, I will. We could get married here, tomorrow.”

“Tighremt does sound tempting,” Yixing muses against Baekhyun’s skin. “It’s almost as gorgeous as you are.”

“For heaven’s sake, Yixing, _stop_ it,” Baekhyun laughs, tickling his sides with his heels around his waist. When Yixing stops squirming, he speaks again. “You have to get me a ring, first, though.”

“Nah,” Yixing shakes his head. “I’ll leave that to you.”

“Why not?”

“I’m the one who proposed.”

“That’s not true! I did! I got the idea first!” Baekhyun’s indignant squawks are loud in the evening air.

“But I did it properly,” Yixing drawls the last word. “That’s a lot of work, anyway. So you’re the one deciding on the rings, that’s just the way it is.”

“Actually, I think it works the other way around, Xing. The one who proposes has to get the rings— _before_ the proposal.” Baekhyun’s smirk is still soft, Yixing notes.

“Listen, we’ve never been good at doing things the right way, have we?”

Baekhyun sighs, bringing his mouth back on Yixing’s. Yixing flutters his eyes shut, his heart stuttering in his chest; this is the happiest he’s ever been. “You’re right about that, hyung. But that’s why we make the best pair, isn’t it?”

***

Yixing is going through his notes when there’s a knock at his door.

It’s early August now, and classes start again in two days. He’s right in the middle of the final preparations of his courses, spending most of his time at the education level of the Common Building in Chanyeol’s company.

It’s Chanyeol at the door, in fact, and he has surprised eyes fixed on Yixing. “Yes?” he asks, inviting him in.

“Are you immortal, or something?” Chanyeol asks right away, and Yixing laughs. “No, I’m serious. Is there something I should know? Baekhyun, too, is he like you?”

As far as Yixing is concerned, Chanyeol knows everything there is too know about him and Baekhyun—even the stuff he probably shouldn’t even know about. “What do you mean?”

“Yesung-hyung was going through archives, for a course on History of Chemistry we’re preparing,” Chanyeol explains. He sits down at Yixing’s desk, facing him, pulling out his tablet. “And we found… here, look for yourself.”

Yixing looks down at Chanyeol’s screen, and stops. His heart does too, before it starts beating rapidly, fluttering.

Three pictures—one of a painting, dating back to the 1800s, another only about a century later, in 1970, and the last one, with a timestamp that reads 2016. On all three, Yixing and Baekhyun are portrayed, either serious, or smiling, but together, always.

It’s them, Yixing has no doubt. He feels like he’s been through that before.

“What’s that?” Yixing murmurs, tone more wondrous than he means it.

Chanyeol shakes his head, just as stunned. “I don’t know, right? The window just popped on the screens, as if it was begging us to look at them. And then we just…” A shrug, a mess of curly flocks shaking in amazement. “Yeah. Crazy, huh?”

“Crazy doesn’t really cut it, Chanyeollie,” Yixing hears himself say, but his tone is strangely calm. He feels it, too—slightly more serene than he thinks he should be.

He stares at the pictures for a while longer, and it’s truly no doubt it’s him—them, he thinks, as he pays particular attention to Baekhyun’s features. It’s a face he knows best, even better than his own.

“Hyung, do you think you and Baekhyun, you’re like, one of those soulmate pairs we read about in Mythology?” Chanyeol asks, tone wondrous. “I haven’t taken that since high school, but that would explain it, right?”

Why does it feel like he has heard that tale countless times before? Why does he get both giddy and irritated at hearing about it again and again, even though he’s sure only to have come across it a handful of times?

“Maybe, yeah,” Yixing says. He wants to smile, suddenly.

Chanyeol can’t keep quiet for more than a few seconds at a time. “Whoa. I’m best friends with a pair of soulmates. Wait until Minseok and Jongdae hear about it.”

“You’re taking this more lightly than I thought,” Yixing says, ignoring the deadpan look he gets from his friend.

Chanyeol snorts. “Hyung, you’re the one with a cosmic, star-crossed loving boyfriend, not me. If anything, _you_ should be freaking out.”

Chanyeol’s right, but despite the overall shakiness that buzzes in his bones, Yixing feels strangely calm, as though he was expecting it all along. Maybe he was, in fact—maybe this is not a surprise, but a confirmation, and so he doesn’t really feel the need to dwell on it.

Things are so easy, this time around, he thinks momentarily.

“Mind sending me those files?” Yixing inquires. He’ll ask Baekhyun about it, maybe he—

“Already did,” Chanyeol says, getting up from his seat. He’s still staring at his screen, before he puts it to sleep, folding it and pocketing it securely. “I’ve also sent them to Baekhyun. It’s a wonder he hasn’t called you, you know. He was all sorts of ecstatic over the phone when he got them.”

Ecstatic? Not freaked out? That makes the two of them, then. “I haven’t checked yet—” When he presses his temple, Yixing finds four missed calls, sixteen texts, too many voice mails to count. Yixing blinks away the missed notifications, shaking out a fond laughter.

“I’ll leave you to it, then, hyung,” Chanyeol chuckles when he’s at the door. “See you later, hyung! You’re a legend!”

Yixing decides to meet Baekhyun at the health services’ cafeteria, only a handful of minutes later. When he spots Baekhyun, the younger stands up, smirk lighting up his face. “I knew it.”

“You did?” Yixing probes, ruffling his boyfriend’s hair.

(Almost husband, now, in fact—they really went through the wedding procedures, and they’re set to get married in September, in Tamanrasset, because of course Baekhyun changed his mind and decided it would be exciting to hold a pastel-themed wedding in the Sahara.)

“Not really, but I had a feeling. I told you, already. That’s exciting, isn’t it?” They sit, Baekhyun taking Yixing’s hand in his, playing with his fingers.

“It doesn’t freak you out a little?”

Baekhyun seems to recognize what Yixing means. “We’ve been through this before, right? Tons of lifetimes together, or whatever. So maybe we’ve just lived through the whole, ‘ _Shit, I think my boyfriend is my soulmate_ ’ panic before, and it’s not as… scary, anymore.”

“Yeah, I think so, too.” It’s a relief, somehow. Yixing has a feeling it might not have gone well the last time, even if it might have occurred a few years late. He’s glad this time around, things have improved. “You’re so sure about us being predestined, huh”

“Of course we are. How many lives do you think we’ve lived through, then?” Baekhyun asks. He’s smiling wickedly, and Yixing gets lost in it.

“I don’t know. Isn’t it four, usually? Like the legends.” A life of planting, of watering, of harvesting, of cherishing the harvest. If Yixing would guess, he would aim for the latter as their current one. It tastes sad and bitter on his tongue.

“Is it really, though?” Baekhyun is pouting, eyes considering. He’s so pretty, Yixing thinks. “Just four lives, that can’t be enough. Think about it.” He moves his hands as he speaks, taking Yixing’s along with them. “You plant something. The seed sets into the ground, it’s there. You water it; the plant grows, prospers, in the summer. Harvest time comes, you pick the fruits, it’s the most rewarding time. And then you cherish those fruits, you eat them, made jam out of it, candles, I don’t know, yada, yada.”

“That’s how it goes, yeah.”

“But it doesn’t just stop there, Xing,” Baekhyun fixes him with a challenging, knowing truth in his eyes, and Yixing is enraptured. “Those fruits, they have seeds of their own. Nature comes in cycles, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t it make sense to save some of those fruits—and their seeds—for planting, once spring comes again?”

Baekhyun falls silent, and Yixing considers his words. There’s trepidation simmering under his skin, at the thought of maybe not forever, but something damn close, by Baekhyun’s side. It sounds awfully tacky, but… “It makes sense.”

“Indeed it does.”

“You’re smarter than you look, sometimes, Baekhyunnie,” Yixing teases, his head spinning but Baekhyun always remaining a grounding presence. “I love that about you.”

“I know you do.” Baekhyun winks. “Soulmates, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Yixing rolls his eyes.

In reality, they’ve both forgotten a lot, probably—one, two, maybe even three lifetimes have gone past that they cannot recall. It’s in the way Yixing gets shivers when he thinks of New York’s narrow streets, although they look so much different in his head than they do in reality. It’s in the way his heart does flips when he visits his home country, passing by Beijing and Shanghai and thinking back to moments he feels he’s never really lived through. It’s in the way he finds it ironic, a little, how Baekhyun is a physician, as though he remembers a time where he was in his shoes.

But there’s one thing he can never forget—the warmth of Baekhyun’s smile, the shining glint of his eyes, the powerful strength of his love. Through the lives he’s lived and the cycles they make, forgotten ones of the past and future ones to come, he knows it’s one thing—certain, true—that he will let go of. It’s home, in the most wonderful ways.

 

 

***

 

**v. epilogue**

_Katreus Linea Earth-based Camp, Europa (moon orbiting Jupiter), October 5690_

“Happy birthday!”

Baekhyun turns to the loud cheers that erupt at the far back of the bar, laughter mixing with the music and the various voices that are still yelling incomprehensible nonsense from the little crowd he spots. Celebrating birthdays is a typically human habit, but the crowd gathers all sorts of species, and it’s intriguing, to say the least.

“I haven’t seen anyone celebrate their birthday in ages in here,” Kyungsoo’s voice muses. Baekhyun turns back to the bartender, who’s looking at the same crowd with a fond expression.

For the most part, Kyungsoo looks very human—wide pretty eyes with thick, heart-shaped lips that charm more consumers than he’d like, hair looking strikingly human-like sitting at the top of his head. He’s of average human size, too—just a tad bit on the shorter side, but it’s almost unnoticeable.

One of the only features that betrays him, really, is the golden sheen of his skin, looking almost fluid-like, sparkling without the need of the low lights of the bar above him. It’s as though Kyungsoo’s skin is made of golden, glittery lava, and it fascinated Baekhyun so much the first time he met him he couldn’t stop staring. Now, he has grown used to it, but he still thinks it’s quite beautiful.

Whenever Baekhyun asks which planet or moon Kyungsoo’s from, his friend only pulls his tongue at him—purple and forked, and very much not human, either.

“When’s your birthday?” Baekhyun asks. He brings his drink to his lips, something very pink and very sweet and very much his favourite thing.

Kyungsoo shrugs. “I don’t remember. And I wouldn’t know, either, what with different calendars, and stuff.”

“Ah ha! So your planet _does_ have its own calendar,” Baekhyun notes. “So it wasn’t human-invaded. You agreed to work with the Earth and share resources or whatever.” Baekhyun never excelled in Earth Diplomacy anyway.

“Not a planet,” Kyungsoo only offers. “A moon. And you’re asking too many questions. I’m poisoning your next drink if you keep it up.”

“You would never,” Baekhyun mumbles, but he’s not too sure, so he keeps quiet nonetheless.

He turns back to the small crowd. He can’t see much from where he sits, at the bar, but there’s the sound of a distinctly high giggle that catches his attention, just that high enough to almost squeak and scratch on the edges. Baekhyun smiles despite himself, warmth spreading through him from more than just his drink.

“When’s your birthday, then?” Kyungsoo asks behind him.

“May 6th,” Baekhyun replies without thinking. “Please don’t poison my drink on my birthday, thanks.”

“Shoot, you saw right through me.”

“I know you too well, Kyungsoo.”

In fact, he has only known Kyungsoo for about three months, having moved to Europa’s Katreus Linea Camp from his native Venus underground base around that time. Baekhyun doesn’t miss Venus much—living underground was suffocating, especially with an atmosphere as unwelcoming and unpleasant as the one dominating the entirety of the planet, making it impossible to even consider getting out.

Europa’s atmosphere is different from the Earth’s, but it is supportable, and sustainable.

Katreus Linea also has an incredible nightlife, and it’s the main reason why Baekhyun is here, really—employment opportunities aside, of course.

It’s two hours later, after Baekhyun has went down to the dancefloor and back, that he bumps into a body on his way to the bar.

“Oh, sorry, I wasn’t looking, silly me!” A voice quips happily. “Please pardon me.”

At the sound of the voice, Baekhyun looks up. He recognizes the scratchy quality of it right away, although he isn’t sure where to place it. “Oh, it’s fine, no worries.”

The man in front of him is very much human-looking, although his hair is dyed pale pink and has a glittery quality to it, not unlike Kyungsoo’s skin or Baekhyun’s drink from earlier. He has a dimple digging deep into his cheek, his grin stretching plump lips across his face.

He’s stunning, simply put. Baekhyun knows he must be staring.

The stranger tilts his head. He’s wearing contacts, Baekhyun thinks. Those eyes, there’s something about them that makes goosebumps erupt across his arms, and he’s almost certain they aren’t green, usually. “Are you heading to the bar?” the stranger asks, voice just a little slurred.

Baekhyun nods, shaking his head slightly, dizzy. “Uh, yeah, I was, actually.”

“Let me tag long,” the man says, before extending his hand in front of him. Definitely human, then. “I’m Zhang Yixing, by the way. It’s my birthday, today.”

“Ah, so you’re the birthday boy, then,” Baekhyun nods. He takes the hand offered to him, and tries not to show how his breath stutters in his throat at the contact. He doesn’t know why. “I’m Byun Baekhyun.”

“Byun Baekhyun,” Yixing tastes the words on his tongue, narrowing his eyes at Baekhyun. The lights of the bar make his pink hair shine brighter than it has the right to “Have we met before, Baekhyun?”

And Baekhyun wants to say something about how that’s a pick-up line old like the Solar System itself, and that he certainly won’t fall for it, but there’s truth to Yixing’s words that make him stop short.

He considers his next words. “I don’t know, have we?”

Yixing fixes with a curious look for a moment more, before he shrugs easily, carefree and unbelievably gorgeous, his hand so warm around Baekhyun’s. “Does it matter?”

“No,” Baekhyun replies. He smiles. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

 

_fin._

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a handful of notes!
> 
> 1\. If you hadn't caught on: soulmates, in this universe, go through a cycle of four lives as depicted in the story, but this cycle resumes once it is completed. Baekhyun figured it out, in his last life. It's common occurrence, for souls in their last life, to catch on their fate.
> 
> 2\. Also in the last life, Baekhyun and Yixing do end up getting married in the Sahara. They also adopt three children, two dogs, and a cat. It's one of their many happily ever after's. :)
> 
> 3\. In the epilogue, Lu Han is (again) Yixing's best friend, the one who actually throws him a birthday party. He's a native from Europa, though. Not human. I'll let you decide what he looks like.
> 
> 4\. Kyungsoo is actually Lu Han's soulmate. However, during Yixing's second lifetime in the cycle, Lu Han was only at his first; they hadn't gone past a first meeting; Lu Han then went on with his life, got married, you know the rest.
> 
>  
> 
> I'll now go back to the final assignments I procrastinated on to finish this. Comments, kudos, general love and support are all always super deeply appreciated! ♥


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